The Death of Stuart Bailey
by MaverickLover2
Summary: What happens when you have to die to save an innocent girl's life? Stu and jeff take on an almost impossible case about slaves and the man with an unforeseen plan.
1. Chapter 1

The Death of Stuart Bailey

Chapter 1

Stu first heard about the World Trade Fair from Roy Gilmore. Every once in a while the two men got together for coffee and touched base with each other, just so the police would know if there was anything going on in the Bailey and Spencer realm they should know about. That street ran both ways, of course, and Gil kept the P.I.s aware of what was going on out in the big world known as Los Angeles. This passing of information was strictly confidential, but it seemed to work.

Stuart had been working on an insurance investigation . . . usually Jeff handled most of those; he seemed to be particularly good at them. Jeff, however, had been on vacation, one that he sorely needed, and Stu was picking him up at LAX this evening. Because of the insurance work Stu hadn't been paying much attention to the world of trade and finance, so news of the Trade Fair hadn't reached his ears until Gil brought it up this morning.

"There's gonna be a lot of corporate bigwigs, as well as financial gurus, and the majority of them are the most paranoid people you're ever gonna meet. Plus I understand that several of the African and Middle Eastern potentates are coming to see what they can spend their money on. I'd imagine with Bailey and Spencer's reputation you'll be getting all the business you can handle."

"Doing what, for heaven's sake?" Stu asked, genuinely curious.

"Bodyguard work mostly. Could be quite pleasant if they bring their wives. As long as you don't get friendly with the slave girls. Don't look at me like that, Bailey, most of them still have slave girls."

"That's awful, Gil. Aren't they aware that the United States doesn't recognize slavery? That it was outlawed here some time ago? If any of those girls decide they want to be free, they have that right as long as they're here. What do we do if one of them decides to run away? I'm sure not going to stop any of them, or turn them in. Jeff won't either."

"Sounds like you've got a problem."

"What's the official LAPD stance on runaway slaves?" Stu wanted to know where he stood with the law before he got involved guarding anyone with slaves. Slavery was repugnant to him, but not everyone in the world thought the same way. If the United States allowed foreign royalty in and did nothing about the slave girls, what could Bailey and Spencer do?

"We call the State Department and let them handle it. "

"Wouldn't we – "

"Nope. You're a private firm. The State Department won't touch it."

"So what do we do? Besides not accept any of the business?" As far as Stu could see, the firm would be squarely between a rock and a hard place.

"You've hit the nail on the head. Don't accept any of the business if the party that wants to hire you has slaves."

"As long as they tell us the truth."

They talked about trivial things, finished their coffee and went back to work. Stu chewed over the World Trade Fair and the possibility of their services being requested, but he still couldn't abide the idea of slaves. Stuart was relieved Jeff was coming home tonight; he'd been sorely missed. The office was much too quiet without his best friend and confidant there.

Stu wrapped up the insurance investigation and offered to take Suzanne to lunch; he wanted to get out of the office and clear his head. Dino's was quiet for a change and they were almost done when she rested her hand on his arm. "What is bothering you, Stuart? You've been much too quiet all day."

"What do you think of slavery, Suzanne? I mean modern-day slavery, the kind that still exists in some African and Middle Eastern countries."

"I don't like it, Stuart. I don't like it at all. I don't believe it should still exist, but it does. You are thinking about the people coming to the World Trade Fair?"

"Yes. I had coffee with Gil this morning and he told me that some of the royalty coming to the Fair have slaves, and are bringing the slaves with them."

"And you don't like that?"

"Not one bit. I don't think Jeff will, either. I'm absolutely against taking on any client that has slaves with them. Do you think I'm being too . . . ?"

"Narrow-minded?"

"That's it, narrow-minded."

"No, Stuart, I don't. Whether it's in Africa or the Middle East or the United States, slavery is wrong. And I'm sure Jeff will agree with you."

Stu left the office about six o'clock and went straight to LAX. Jeff's flight was arriving from the French Riviera and Stu met him at gate sixteen. Jeff was tanned and smiling and Stuart was ever-so-glad to have his partner back. He grabbed the suitcase from Jeff and carried it down the concourse.

"Uh-oh. Does that mean trouble?" Jeff asked with a lilt in his voice.

"No, no trouble. Why do you ask that?"

"Because whenever I'm carrying something and you take it away from me, there's a problem somewhere."

"I'm that transparent, am I?" Stu asked with a slow grin.

"Like glass."

"There is something I want to discuss with you, but it can wait. Are you coming into the office tomorrow?"

"I was," Jeff answered. "Should I stay home?"

"You might want to." There was no mistaking the look of concern on Stu's face.

"Maybe you better tell me now."

Stuart shook his head. "Let's wait until we're in the car."

Jeff decided to pry a little. "Other than whatever this is that's bothering you, how is everything? How'd the rest of the Provident case go?"

"It went fine. I don't know why you don't find those things boring. Maybe that's why you're so much better at them than I am. You actually enjoy them."

They reached the car and Stu deposited the suitcase into the back seat, then climbed into the driver's seat. "We missed you, you know. I missed you. And poor Suzanne really missed you. I drove her to distraction."

"She missed me?"

"Almost as much as I did. You look great. I hope that means you had a good time." Stuart felt guilty for not having asked Jeff about his vacation sooner.

"It does and I did. Now, we're in the car. Tell me what's got you so agitated."

"Slaves."

"Slaves?"

"Slaves."

"Stu, did you miss the memo? Lincoln freed them a while back."

"Not that kind." Stu had to grin, in spite of himself. "Do you know anything about the World Trade Fair?"

"Sure. It's opening the Los Angeles Memorial Sports Arena next month. Why? What does the Trade Fair have to do with slaves?"

"I had coffee with Gil this morning. He told me that some of the royalty from the Middle East and Africa is coming to the Fair. The kind of royalty that still has slaves. And they're bringing the slaves with them."

"And we're letting them in?"

The famous Bailey head nodded. "We are."

"But we don't allow slavery. "

"My thought exactly. Which means if any of the slaves ask for asylum, we will give it to them."

Jeff lit a cigarette. "You want one?" he asked his partner.

Stuart shook his head 'no.'

"What's the official LAPD stand?"

"According to Gil, if they catch an escaped slave they're to call the State Department."

Jeff took a draw on his cigarette and blew the smoke out. "I'm afraid to ask. What does all this have to do with us?"

"Bailey and Spencer? Gil says that most of the royalty is anxious about their state of health, or as he puts it, paranoid. They're going to want private bodyguards. In other words, us."

"So what's the problem? Why can't we just . . .?"

"Call the State Department? We're an independent firm. We're on our own."

Jeff finished his cigarette and threw the butt out of the car. He was unbelievably quiet for almost three minutes before he made the connection. "I see. You never asked me how I felt about slavery itself."

Once again, Stu shook his head. "I didn't have to. I knew how you felt."

"So we have to be very careful who employees us for this bodyguard job."

"That's it exactly. No one that's brought slaves with them. No matter how much they offer us. You're on board with that?" Jeff laughed and caused Stu to glance his way. "What's so funny?"

"You shouldn't have had to ask me that, either."


	2. Chapter 2

The Death of Stuart Bailey

Chapter 2

"Who's on the phone, Suzanne?" Stu had to ask. He wasn't sure he'd heard her right the first time.

"Sheikh Zayed Bin Nadir al-Nahyan. Please don't ask me to say it a third time."

"Did he ask for me specifically?" Stu already surmised the answer.

"Yes, he did, Stu."

"Thank you, Suzanne."

Stu picked up line one. "Stuart Bailey."

A small and unexpected chuckle greeted him. "Mr. Bailey, this is Zayed. Please apologize to your girl for me. I'm afraid my name is a mouthful, and she did her best with it."

"I will do that, Sheikh. What can I do for you?"

"Please, call me Zayed. I would like to come in and speak to you about security for the upcoming World Trade Fair. That is, if none of my brethren have as yet engaged your services."

"You wish to discuss employing Bailey and Spencer as bodyguards, Sheikh? Would that be for the entire length of the Fair, or a shorter period of time?"

"For the entire length of the Fair, Mr. Bailey."

"I see. And when would you like to come in and discuss this?"

Another chuckle. "Would five minutes from now be too soon?"

Stuart was taken aback, but he kept the surprise out of his voice. "By any chance, have you just left your car with Kookie?"

"A delightful young man. There is no one like him where I come from. My wives were quite taken with him."

'_I just bet they were,'_ Stu thought. "Five minutes from now would be fine, Zayed."

In less than five minutes Stu heard the outer door opening. Shortly after that the sound of Suzanne giggling reached his ears. That's when he got up from his desk and opened his office door. The outer office was filled with the presence of a large and elegant man with a deeply tanned face. He wore a long white dishdasha, with what appeared to be sirwal trousers and a ghuthra on his head, secured by an aghal. He approached Stuart rapidly, with his hand outstretched.

"Mr. Bailey, I am so pleased to make your acquaintance. I am Sheikh Zayed Bin Nadir al-Nahyan."

"Please, Sheikh Zayed, have a seat," Stu requested, as they walked into his office. "Pardon me for asking, but I thought you had your wives with you."

"Oh I did, Mr. Bailey. They are all outside, making, how you say it? Goo-goo eyes at your parking lot attendant, Kookie. They ask for so little, I couldn't deny their request."

"Their request?"

"Yes, to remain with the automobile . . . and Kookie." Both men laughed.

Stu reached for the cigarette box he kept on his desk, opened it and offered one to the Sheikh. The Sheikh accepted and took one, but hesitated to let Stu light it for him. "I will smoke this with you only if you promise to call me Zayed from now on."

"As you wish," Stu acquiesced as he lit the Sheikh's cigarette. "But you must agree to call me Stuart, or Stu."

"You have a beautiful office, Stuart. But then it stands to reason that Bailey and Spencer would have beautiful offices. You are the best in the business."

"I disagree with that Zayed. Maybe one of the best, but certainly not the best. There are many fine Private Investigators' in the business, and many of them are right here in California."

"Well, we shall not argue. I came here to employee the best . . . I mean one of the best as my bodyguard while I am attending the World Trade Fair at the Los Angeles Memorial Sports Arena. Goodness, that is a mouthful. I am determined that means Stuart Bailey. Name your fee."

"Do you want the protection only while you are at the Fair, or twenty-four hours a day?" Stu questioned.

"Twenty-four hours a day."

"And you have no problem with my supplying one of my associates for the nighttime hours?"

"No, depending upon who it is."

Stu's turn to chuckle. "Gerald Lloyd Kookson, III. Or, as you know him, Kookie."

Zayed looked alarmed. "Surely you jest."

"I do not. Kookie is a valuable member of our firm. Besides, think of how happy your wives will be."

"That, my friend, is what I am afraid of."

"That's the best arrangement I can offer you, Zayed," Stuart insisted.

Zayed pondered the offer for a moment. "Alright, I am going to have a suite with several rooms. There will be a place for him in one of the rooms at night. Now, your fee."

"Our normal rate is two-hundred dollars a day plus expenses for twenty-four-hour protection. With an assignment like this, there will be an additional charge of five-thousand dollars upon completion of the task. If those fees are acceptable to you, I have one more question before we formally accept."

"They are acceptable, but I insist that you agree to take ten-thousand dollars when the Fair is finished. Now, what is your question?" Sheikh Zayed was puzzled regarding what they might not have covered.

"Do you have any slave girls with you?"

There was a long pause before Zayed answered. "I see that you have researched the attendees thoroughly. No, Stuart, I have no slave girls with me. And just so we are clear, I do not believe in slavery and do not own slaves."

"In that case, Bailey and Spencer accepts your offer of employment."

"I am glad that is concluded. Now, if you will excuse me, I must return to my car and rescue Mr. Kookson from my wives. I will have my secretary phone your girl this afternoon with all the details. It was a pleasure, Stuart. And by the way, you have a delightful girl."

Both men stood and shook hands.

"She's not my girl, Zayed," Stu insisted.

"That's a shame, Stuart. She should be."

Ten minutes after Zayed left Kookie staggered into Stu's office via the back door and collapsed on the couch. When he said nothing, Stu looked up. "Kookie?"

"Reet, dad. The Sheikh is reet."

"He better be. You've got the night watch on Zayed and his wives."

Kookie perked up considerably. "The Sheikh AND his wives?"

"That's right. For the whole week you're working days. Any problems with that?"

Kookie smiled, looking as happy as Stu had ever seen him. "No, sir. No problem at all."

Dishdasha – A long white tunic worn by men in The Gulf (Saudi Arabia, Qatar, Kuwait)

Sirwahl Trousers – Baggy and comfortable trousers, typically seen under a Dishdasha

Ghuthra – A red checkered keffieh (man's headscarf)

Aghal – A black band that wraps around the head and holds the ghuthra in place


	3. Chapter 3

The Death of Stuart Bailey

Chapter 3

The next morning Stu drove to The Beverly Hilton Hotel, where Sheikh Zayed and his wives were staying. It was a good distance from there to the L.A. Memorial Sports Arena, but the Sheikh felt his wives would be safer and happier at the Hilton.

Back at the Bailey and Spencer offices, Jeff came in early. They had seen three other potential clients, but all three had admitted to having slaves and bringing them along. This morning Jeff was to meet with Prince Bilal Abdul Samad of Morocco, and it sounded promising.

The Prince was thirty minutes late when he finally showed up. He walked into the outer office as if he owned the place, and began ordering Suzanne around. "I don't care, girl, if he's on the phone or not. Get Spencer out here immediately. I am Prince Bilal Abdul Samad of Morocco and Jeff Spencer's presence is required."

The Prince was about the same height as Stuart and might have been a handsome man were if not for the permanent scowl on his face. He was dressed in a brown and gold djellaba and a colorful turban, with the wrapping of the turban trailing down the prince's back.

"Mr. Spencer is on the phone, Your Highness. He will be with you in a moment."

"What is wrong with you, girl? Get Mr. Spencer off the phone and out here immediately. Don't sit there looking like a dolt. Don't you hear me? Get him."

Stunned by the rudeness of the man standing in front of her, Suzanne simply sat there. When another minute had gone by and she hadn't moved, the prince flew into a rage.

"Get up off your lazy ass and get me Mr. Spencer. What is wrong with you, girl? I will not be treated like this. I said get up off your fat American ass and get Spencer."

"I am not American, Your Highness. I am French."

"I don't care if you're from Mars. Get Spencer before I am forced to show you how we deal with such indolent creatures in my world." The prince raised his hand as if to strike her.

Suzanne jumped up, put the switchboard on hold and scurried into Jeff's office without even knocking. Jeff hung up the phone almost immediately and rose quickly from his chair, going to put his arms around Suzanne. Something was terribly wrong; she was trembling. "What's wrong Suzanne? What happened?"

"Oh, Jeff!" she cried into his sport coat. "The Prince is here, and he is the meanest man. He demanded I produce you immediately! And he threatened to strike me if I didn't obey him."

"No one threatens to strike you, I don't care what country he's from or what kind of royalty he is. Don't go back out there. Go sit in Stu's office. I'll take care of Mr. High-and-Mighty." He walked her to the connecting door and opened it, then helped her to the couch and gave her his handkerchief. "You stay right here. That may be the way he acts in Morocco, but he won't get away with it here."

Jeff went back through the connecting door and shut it. Then he opened his office door to see the man that had upset Suzanne so much.

"Prince Bilal? I'm Jeff Spencer. Won't you come in, please?" Jeff wanted desperately to wipe the smirk off the Prince's face. As soon as he'd followed Bilal Abdul Samad into the office he closed the door and sat down behind his desk. His voice was low and soft, but there was no mistaking the anger that lurked there. "Tell me Prince Bilal, what makes you think you can act the same in the United States as you do in Morocco? Haven't you ever heard of courtesy? You can't just order people around in this country, and threaten physical abuse when they don't respond quickly enough for your liking. Suzanne is a valued member of our staff, and a good friend to boot, and nothing gives you the right to cause her the misery you've caused her. Such behavior is not tolerated in this country, and most certainly not in this office. Particularly towards Suzanne, and if that's the way you're going to continue to act, we have no business to discuss. The choice is yours."

The Prince sat there, stunned. How dare a mere commoner address him that way? No one had ever talked to him like that before. He looked across the desk at the man that had just chewed him out, and Spencer was smiling. His calm and cool demeanor made the prince realize that he was exactly what the prince needed. There were too many people in the world that would take great pleasure in learning that Bilal was dead. Now, how to rectify this situation while maintaining his dignity? One more glance at the man across the desk and he determined that his dignity was the least significant object in the equation. Besides, how many times had one or another of his women complained about his haughty attitude, and his demand that his wishes be carried out immediately?

Swallowing his pride, he began his apology. "I am sorry, Mr. Spencer, I can be too self-centered and insistent when I am not accommodated immediately. I offer you my sincere apology."

"I'm not the person you should be apologizing to, Prince Bilal. And I believe she deserves to hear your apology in person." Jeff got up from his behind his desk and opened the office's connecting door, then went in after Suzanne. When they appeared together at the door, Jeff had his arm around her shoulder.

Bilal stood and bowed deeply. "I am most sincerely sorry for my unforgivable treatment of you earlier, Miss . . . ?"

"Fabray. Suzanne Fabray."

"I assure you, MissFabray, that nothing like this will ever happen again. I apologize for any distress that I caused you."

"Thank you, Your Highness."

Jeff walked Suzanne back to her switchboard. "If he says one word to you that's out of line, I want to know about it."

"Thank you, Jeff." Suzanne squeezed his hand and sat down. Jeff returned to his office, closing the door behind him. He resumed his seat behind his desk and smiled. "Now, Your Highness, what did you wish to see me about?"

XXXXXXXX

Stu, meanwhile, was being introduced to the Sheikh's wives – all of the Sheikh's wives. He'd do his best to remember them all.

"Mr. Bailey, may I present Adilah, Aliyah, Anira, Fatiha, Habiba, Imane, Jamila, and Nadia. Ladies, this is Mr. Bailey. He is going to see to it that we are safe while at the Trade Fair. When he tells you . . . asks you to do something, it is for your own protection, so please do what he asks. Now, Stu, if you will join me in the sitting room, we can discuss the matters we need to discuss."

Stu followed Zayed into the sitting room, where a pot of coffee and two cups were waiting for them. "I have to admit indulging in the many different types of coffee available in your country while I am here. There is only one coffee available in Morocco, and it tastes rather like chalk. And not good chalk, at that. May I offer you something else? We have fresh fruit, eggs, toast, and those things you call muffins. We call them fatirat mustahat wamudawara, and they are as difficult to eat as they are to pronounce. Again, like the coffee, your muffins are much more pleasant to consume."

"No, thank you, Zayed. Coffee will do just fine." Stu was taking it all in, trying to determine just what it was that Zayed wasn't telling him. The Sheikh was being too nice, too accommodating; he had to be withholding something.

"Sheikh Zayed, you have been more than helpful with your time, your attention to detail, your willingness to examine what will be required of each of us at the World Trade Fair. I can't help but wonder what it is you're hiding. No one pays the kind of fees we charge unless they have a problem at hand, and so far you haven't given me a valid reason to engage Bailey and Spencer as your bodyguards. What is it you haven't told me, Zayed?"

Zayed got up and walked to the window, drinking his coffee as he went. He gazed out at the city scene below while his back remained to Bailey. The Sheikh sighed and there was a visible sag to his shoulders when he began. "You are right, Stuart, there is something I have not told you. I knew I'd picked the right man to guard that which is so precious to me, and you proved that with your instincts about me. There is a faction in my country that wants to do away with the old traditions, the ones we have followed and lived by for thousands of years. This faction believes, rightfully so, that I am one of the main voices standing in their way. They have promised me that if I don't quit calling out against them they will begin killing my wives, one by one. And when they have killed them all they will assassinate me."

Zayed turned to face the P.I. with a sad smile on his face. "If you wish to back out of our arrangement I will understand, Stuart. But if you will abide by the agreement we made I will double the amount of money that I promised you. I will triple it, Stuart, if that is what you require. Please help me protect them. They are most important to me . . . I would offer my own life if I knew they would be safe. I am begging you, Stuart."

Stu poured himself another cup of coffee before answering the Sheikh. "And you are withholding nothing else?"

Zayed did not hesitate. If there was anything else, he was an excellent liar. "I swear to Allah. There is nothing else."

"Then I will do my very best to protect them. And you."


	4. Chapter 4

The Death of Stuart Bailey

Chapter 4

The following day was a busy one at the offices of Bailey and Spencer, as both partners had preparations to make and plans to tend to. Prince Bilal wished to engage the firm on a twenty-four hour a day basis, also, which meant that Jeff would be sleeping in one of the outer bedrooms at night, since Kookie's services had already been spoken for. Stu knew that would be rough on Jeff and volunteered to sit in some nights for him. Prince Bilal had to be informed of the arrangement, and Jeff gave the explanation as professionally as he could. Surprisingly, the Prince took it well.

A meeting was arranged between Stu and the Prince, with Jeff warning Stuart ahead of time that the royal Moroccan could be, to put it diplomatically, difficult. The one thing in the Private Investigator's favor was that Bilal and his entourage were staying at the same hotel as Zayed, The Beverly Hilton. The Prince had the Penthouse; The Sheikh the next floor down, known as the Presidential Suite. When Stuart went to the Penthouse with Jeff and was ushered in and introduced, he couldn't see much difference between the two suites. The introduction was only to Bilal, there was no one else present.

"Prince Bilal, may I introduce my partner, Stuart Bailey. Stu this is Prince Bilal Abdul Samad. Mr. Bailey will be taking over the nighttime duties for me on occasion so that I can take care of . . . well, so that I can get some sleep."

"But Mr. Spencer, you can certainly sleep here in one of the outer bedrooms," Bilal insisted.

"Your Highness," Stu tried to explain as delicately as possible, "Mr. Spencer and I have what you probably believe to be strange personal hygiene habits. He needs time to address those habits. Something that he cannot do here."

"Alright, I know that Americans have . . . issues they prefer to attend to in private. I will allow for that by agreeing to remain in these rooms and not leave this floor so that Mr. Spencer might . . ."

_Shower and shave,_ thought Stu and Jeff at the same time. "You realize that will take me about three hours, counting drive time," Jeff explained.

"So be it. Can you accomplish that once we are in for the evening?"

"In other words, take care of it at night?"

"That's exactly what I mean."

Jeff wanted to scream. The Prince was too demanding of his time. However, the amount Bailey and Spencer were charging was so outrageous that his anger was tempered. Jeff calmly answered, "I can, Your Highness. Are there any hours you prefer that I be gone?"

"I should imagine anywhere between midnight and five a.m. Is that enough time, Mr. Spencer?"

"Yes, Your Highness. Thank you. We're leaving now, and I will see you at seven o'clock tomorrow morning."

"Very well."

Stu never said a word until they were in the elevator. "He couldn't even be bothered to say 'Nice to meet you, Mr. Bailey?' He just dismissed you. Me, he ignored completely."

"I warned you, didn't I? Actually, that comes nowhere close to being difficult. So I'll be getting cleaned up while the rest of the world is sleeping. At least I've got time off for good behavior."

Stu shook his head. "I think he was afraid of me."

"Probably. I certainly am." Jeff offered his best smile, and Stu couldn't help but laugh. Sometimes the only thing keeping him sane was Jeff's sunny disposition and humor.

"You busy tonight?"

"Nope. Dinner and bed. Early."

"How about Dino's for dinner?"

"That sounds good," Jeff responded. "I could use a big, fat steak. And several dozen . . . "

"Vodka gimlets?"

"No. Scotch on the rocks."

Stuart could use a scotch or two, himself. "Good. I want to talk to you about something."

Jeff took a minute to digest Stu's mysterious 'request.' "Alright. Something we can't discuss now?"

"Not while I'm driving."

XXXXXXXX

Right after they'd ordered dinner, Jeff tried again. "You had something you wanted to talk about?"

"After dinner."

When the first scotch was finished, Stu ordered another one. Jeff passed; one scotch was enough before dinner. "Stu, either this is terribly serious, in which case I'm worried, or you're putting me off for no reason. Either way I'm concerned. Come on, spill."

"Jeff . . . "

"Yes?"

"There's something. . . something amiss about Sheikh Zayed."

"Like what?"

"I don't know exactly, but every instinct I have is telling me there is something very, very wrong."

Jeff chuckled. Stu tended to worry when they were starting something new. Especially when they were working separately. "It's just nerves. You get that way when we're headed into a job that could be dangerous, and your instincts are picking up on it. That's all it is. As Kookie would say, 'Don't worry so much, dad, we'll be fine.'"

"It's not that, Jeff. I have the feeling . . . it appears I am being interrupted by dinner. I'll do my best to worry about something other than this job."

A muffled laugh, and then, "I'm eating this steak and looking forward to the next one. On Saturday night, here at Dino's. I'll bring Darlene, and you can bring whatever blonde you happen to be enamored of. Jennifer, maybe. Or Maxine. Anyway, the choice is yours. Seven-thirty for drinks first sounds perfect. Agreed?"

"Agreed." Stu looked at his steak and had the feeling a large part of it was going home to his refrigerator. Something was bothering him, no matter what Jefferson Spencer said.

XXXXXXXX

"Did you tell him?"

"No, of course not. Do you take me for a fool?" Zayed paced the floor of the suite and blew out smoke as he paced.

"Are you going to tell him tomorrow?"

"Why would I do that if I didn't tell him today?" The Sheikh stopped his pacing long enough to light another cigarette. _I wanted to tell him . . . to warn him. But I didn't_. _What kind of a man am I, anyway?_


	5. Chapter 5

The Death of Stuart Bailey

Chapter 5

Somewhere across town in a seedy bar, a man sat waiting for a message. When he got the message he would take it to Lou Schneider who was, like him, just a delivery man. Where it went after Lou he didn't know and he didn't want to know. He was well paid to keep his eyes open and his mouth shut. He was very good at his job.

The door opened and Nick McVay wandered in. He sat at the other end of the bar, ordering a scotch and soda, and drank almost half of it before ever looking up. Then he glanced around casually, like he was just becoming aware of his surroundings, and saw the man at the other end of the bar. A subtle sign passed between them before Nick looked back down at his drink. When Nick finished the scotch and soda he paid for his drink, got up off the barstool and left.

The first man waited almost thirty minutes before he called the bartender over and paid his tab. Then he walked out into the cool night air and got behind the wheel of his car, a forty-nine DeSoto, and pulled out into traffic. Twenty minutes later the procedure was repeated and Lou Schneider left. The man with the DeSoto sat for ten minutes and went back out to his car. There was an envelope on the seat that hadn't been there when he went into the bar. He opened it carefully and found five hundred dollar bills inside. He smiled to himself. Not bad for one night's work. Not bad at all.

XXXXXXXX

Across town, another man stood on his balcony and blew smoke rings out into the night air. It was two o'clock in the morning and he should be in bed sleeping soundly. He had a long day ahead of him tomorrow, with two more equally as long after that, and he right now couldn't sleep if he tried.

He stubbed out the cigarette and before he could move his stomach growled. _Nice try, buster_, he thought to himself. _You didn't want to eat when you were supposed to_. _What am I supposed to feed you at this time of the morning? _He didn't keep a lot of food in the apartment as a rule, but right now the cupboards were particularly bare. There wasn't any sense in stocking up when he knew he'd be too busy to cook, and there was nothing in the refrigerator to speak of. He went to the kitchen anyway to try and avoid the insistent rumbling of his stomach and was looking for something quick and easy when he remembered the rest of the steak from dinner. He grabbed his loaf of Italian bread and cut off two slices, then retrieved the steak and steak sauce and made a cold sandwich. It wasn't his favorite thing in the world, but he thought maybe if he could get his stomach to be quiet he might be able to get some sleep. And he didn't have time to let the stove warm-up to heat the meat, so cold steak it was.

Twenty minutes later he was lying in bed, worrying about the assignment he'd accepted. Something didn't feel right about it; in fact it felt terribly wrong. Despite his partner's assertion that it was just nerves, he knew there was something more to it. He'd worked this kind of job a hundred times or more over the years and very rarely did he ever feel this way before he even got started. He sighed and rolled over on his back and within a very few minutes he knew there would be no sleep for him this night. He wondered if Gil was still at the station. _Probably not_, he thought. There wasn't anything big going on, so Gil was most likely home. In bed asleep, which is how he should be. Sighing again he turned on the light and turned off the alarm, then got up and went to the bathroom to take a long, hot shower. It was almost three o'clock before he was done shaving, so he put on a pair of slacks and a polo shirt and went out to get a paper. When he got back he turned on the lamp in the front room and sat down to read. He hadn't seen a paper in almost a week.

It was splashed all over the front page – 'World Trade Fair Starts Today.' He'd thought at first that he would be bored to tears, but playing guard to nine people and looking for anyone that seemed suspicious would leave him no time for boredom. He read the story, hoping to learn anything he hadn't known before, but the paper was just regurgitating what it had printed yesterday. Sometimes he thought they took the previous days paper and simply rewrote the story, then reran it. Sometimes he was sure that's precisely what they did.

He threw the paper down on the couch in disgust. He lit another cigarette and when it was almost gone he got up and when back to the bedroom. He straightened the bed and went to the closet to find clothes for work. There was no sense sitting around the apartment waiting for something to happen. If he was at the office at least he could be productive.

Fifteen minutes later he was on his way to work. The night was beautiful, and for once he could see some stars in the sky. The blast of sirens assailed all his senses, but they were off in the distance, not anywhere close to him or where he was going. There was more traffic than he expected at this time of night, er, morning, but it still only took a few minutes to get to the office on Sunset Strip. He pulled into the parking lot, driving right past the dirty black Packard, and parked in his space. He went into the building via the side entrance, and the man in the Packard stubbed out his cigarette and pulled away. His job was done for the night.

XXXXXXXX

Once he was inside he flipped on the lights, sat down behind his desk, pulled out his pipe and lit it. The pipe always helped clear his mind, whether it was lit or not. He was able to think once the stem was situated firmly between his lips. Now if only he could figure it out before his partner got there.

He sat there for close to thirty minutes; his pipe had long since gone out. Before he could grasp what was happening he was nodding, and every two or three minutes his eyes opened and he realized he'd been asleep. Finally he drifted off to sleep and stayed that way, his chin firmly resting on his chest.

When his partner got there he was discovered with his arms folded neatly on the desk, his head atop those arms, snoring softly. He looked so peaceful, and it wasn't difficult for Jeff to figure out what happened. Worries kept Stu awake most of the night, so he showered and dressed and came to the office. In a different atmosphere he relaxed and fell asleep. Jeff hated to wake him, but it was almost time to leave for the hotel. It was going to be a long, difficult day for Stu, no matter what did or didn't happen.

"Stu. Stu, wake up. It's time to go," Jeff began, gently shaking his partner's shoulders. "Stuart, it's time to leave for the hotel. Wake up." A little more shaking of the shoulders, this time not so gentle, and Stu Bailey finally came back to life.

"Hmm? What? It's time to . . . Jeff, is that you? What time is it?" Stu sat up straight in his chair and shook his head. "Oh, Lord, I fell asleep. Why couldn't I do that about eight hours ago?"

"Too much worrying about nothing," Jeff asserted, as Stu got up from behind his desk, still shaking his head.

"What time is it, anyway?"

"Almost six-thirty. Time for us to hit the road."

Stu yawned and stretched. "I need five minutes."

"Sure. Go ahead."

Spencer made good use of the time, stopping in to see the chef in Dino's kitchen and get two large coffees from him. Five minutes later they were on the way to Jeff's car. In the parking lot, in the very same spot as the Packard the night before, sat a dark blue DeSoto. Neither man paid any attention to it; it appeared to be empty. Stu was busy drinking his coffee and carrying Jeff's, Jeff was digging his keys out of his pocket. They got in the convertible and drove off. The DeSoto waited until they were out of sight and then the man in the front seat repositioned himself behind the wheel and followed. His job was to make certain they went straight to The Beverly Hilton and didn't make any stops along the way. They arrived a few minutes before seven o'clock, and the man in the DeSoto drove away.

Inside, the partners rode up in the elevator, first to the sixth floor, where the Presidential Suite was located. The doors opened and Stu got off the elevator. "Keep your chin up," Jeff told his partner.

"I suppose you mean that literally," Stu replied.

"I do. I don't want to get any phone calls telling me you've fallen asleep in one of Zayed's wives bedrooms and I have to come collect the body."

"Are you implying that Zayed would . . . ?" Stu used his fingers as a make-believe pistol, shooting him.

"I most certainly am. Bye!" Jeff called as the doors closed.

He got off at the next and last floor, the seventh, and went straight to the doors of The Penthouse. He knocked once and the door was opened by a lovely girl before he could knock again. "I'm . . . "

"Yes, sir, I know. Mr. Jeff Spencer, serving as personal bodyguard to the Prince. Please come in," and she opened the door for him.

The Prince hadn't said a word about bringing one of his daughters with him, but this girl was too young to be one of his wives.

"The Prince will be out in just a moment," and before Jeff could ask her a question she disappeared into the bedrooms.

_That's odd_, he thought_. For her to address her father as 'The Prince.' Maybe it's a custom in their country._ He'd have to ask Prince Bilal about it.

The Prince seemed to be in the habit of arriving late. At least when he finally made an appearance this morning he wasn't in a foul mood. "Good morning, Mr. Spencer."

"Good morning, your Highness. Is anyone going with us?"

"Going with us?"

Jeff nodded. "Yes, one of your wives, perhaps? Or your daughter?" It hadn't taken long to slip in the inquiry about the girl.

"No, my wives . . . my daughter? Oh, you must mean Yasmine. She is not my daughter. And my wives would rather go shopping than accompany us to the Trade Fair."

"But, your Highness, I can't guarantee the safety of your wives if they're not with us."

Bilal smiled, the first time Jeff had seen him do so. "I am sending Yafir with them. They will be safe with him. It is not for their lives I fear, in any case."

"Yafir, your Highness?" The name and never been mentioned before, and Jeff certainly hadn't met any Yafir.

"Yafir!" The Prince bellowed and clapped his hands. And that's when Yafir appeared. Several inches taller than Jeff, and several football fields wider, he seemed to materialize out of nowhere. "Mr. Spencer, this is Yafir."

Jeff swallowed hard. "Pleased to meet you, Yafir."

The big man made an elaborate gesture with his hands as he bowed slightly to Jeff. "Yafir cannot speak. His bow indicates that he is pleased to make your acquaintance." The Prince dismissed Yafir with a wave of the hand, and the man who was going to accompany the wives shopping disappeared.

"Why don't you employ Yafir as your bodyguard, Prince Bilal? If you don't mind my asking."

"Not at all. Yafir is a poor shot, at best. Should someone choose to make an attempt on my life, I want a man skilled with a gun by my side. You more than fill that requirement."

"Well, are you ready to go, your Highness? If you want to be there when the Fair opens we must leave now."

"I am, Mr. Spencer. Shall we depart? I have a limousine waiting for us."

As they walked to the door Jeff wondered how his partner was doing. Still awake, he hoped.


	6. Chapter 6

The Death of Stuart Bailey

Chapter 6

One floor down Stu was drinking coffee with Sheikh Zayed. At this exact moment he was awfully glad that Zayed loved American coffee and allowed enough time to drink several cups. Bailey counted on it to get him through the day.

"Zayed, aren't you in a hurry to get to the Trade Fair? We're going to miss the opening as it is."

"My dear Stuart, if I could skip the Fair entirely I would do so," Zayed replied, nonchalantly.

Maybe Zayed's answer to his next question would provide some insight into the man. "If you don't want to go to the Trade Fair, Zayed, why are you here?"

"Because my country expects me to go. And so I shall. That doesn't mean I must be there when the doors open, or that I must spend all my time there. There is something else I wish to see while I am in your country."

"And what would that be, Zayed?" Stu could think of a dozen or more things the Sheikh might be interested in.

"A McDonalds Hamburger Stand."

It was only through long years of practice at keeping a straight face that Stu was able to do so now. "A McDonalds . . . ?"

"That is correct. I thought perhaps we could visit one this afternoon when I send the ladies back to the hotel for lunch."

"I think . . . that could be arranged. Is there nowhere else you wish to visit?" Stu took another swallow of coffee to keep from laughing out loud.

"A movie studio."

That was a little more like it. "I can't promise a movie studio, Zayed. Would you settle for a television studio? I have some friends over at Warner Brothers and I could probably arrange a visit for you. We couldn't take your wives, I'm afraid, and it would have to be tomorrow. Is that acceptable to you?"

"Anything you can arrange, Stuart, would be most appreciated. We get some of your programs at home, although we see them many months or years after they are shown here. I would most enjoy meeting some of your television stars."

"I can't promise you any stars, Zayed, but I will do my best. May I use your phone?"

"Certainly."

Stu dialed a friend of his, a sometime director of the Warner Brothers television shows. "Les, this is Stu Bailey. Good, how are you? And how's Margie? Give her my best, would you? I wish it was just a social call. Listen, I've got a client who would love to see a television studio, and maybe see somebody he knows. Tomorrow, if you can arrange it. What set? Do you know who's filming then? Perfect. What time do you want us there? No, just the two of us. Sounds good to me. Are you directing? Then maybe you can join us for lunch later? Anywhere you want. Alright, we'll see you tomorrow. And Les, thanks." Stu went back to the couch he'd been sitting on.

"It's all set, Zayed. Tomorrow at eleven-thirty, Soundstage thirty-four. Then we can take Les to lunch. You'll like him. He's a very bright, talented guy. I assume that's alright with you?" Stu poured another cup of coffee. He had just about enough to keep him awake today.

"Perfect. Stuart, I appreciate your efforts to satisfy my whim. Might I ask if you know what we will see filmed?"

"Yes, Zayed, it's a western called Maverick."

"Oh, Maverick! I know it well. The poker-playing brothers. Which one will we get, Bret or Bart?"

"Unless there's a change, we get Bart."

"He's my favorite. I have to admit, the favorite of my wives, also. Well, it's been a very productive morning. I suppose we should depart for the Fair. Ladies! Ladies! We're ready to leave. Everyone to the sitting room, please.

"We have a stretch limousine downstairs. I believe everyone will fit." The wives descended upon the sitting room, chatting merrily in Arabic. Stu did his best to ignore the admiring glances that came his way. The last thing he needed was any kind of involvement with ANY of Zayed's wives. Trying to get the women out the door and into the elevator was rather akin to herding cats. Once his charges were all in the limo, Stu sat in front next to the driver and listened to the incessant babble. By the time they got to the Fair his head would be pounding.

He felt someone tapping on his shoulder and turned around as best he could. It was Zayed. "Do you see why I don't take all of them with me when I go somewhere? Tomorrow will be a blessedly quiet day."

"No disrespect meant, Zayed, but did you have to bring them? All of them, I mean?"

"Ah, Stuart, I have asked myself the same question many times. And I have an answer for you. Yes. You see, if I leave any of them at home, I will, as your countrymen say, never hear the end of it. The chatter when they're all with me is far less destructive to my ears than what I hear from the ones I left behind. They do understand that there must be no talking when we are at the Trade Fair. And that they must all stay together."

"I'm sorry to impose that restriction on them, Zayed, but I have to keep them together if I'm going to have any chance of protecting them. It's going to be difficult as it is."

The limousine had arrived at the L.A. Memorial Sports Arena and pulled into the entrance set aside for high profile attendees. It was underground in the parking garage and wasn't the most glamorous of 'front doors.' It was much more private, however, and protected from the incessant paparazzi that plagued famous people.

It was also supposed to be protected from those who would do anyone bodily harm. It didn't prevent those who were just watching . . . and waiting. As long as the man on the other side of the parking lot entrance remained hidden, no one would pay any attention to him. When the Sheikh's entourage, including Stu Bailey, had exited the limousine and entered the first set of double doors, he quietly left and walked back to his DeSoto, parked around the corner and down the block. Everything was running like clockwork . . . it wouldn't be long now.


	7. Chapter 7

The Death of Stuart Bailey

Chapter 7

Jeff admitted what Stu had only considered . . . the Trade Fair was boring. At least it was boring to him. Prince Bilal seemed fascinated with almost everything he encountered. And there was plenty for him to encounter. Every country had a section to display the wares they were trying to sell or trade to other businesses or countries, and Bilal wanted to see them all. Jeff had to tear him away for lunch, which they ate in the private dining room reserved for V.I.P.'s.

At one point a young man approached their table and Jeff quietly slipped his hand under his jacket, grasping the butt of his gun. The boy wore almost the same thing as the prince, but his was a djellaba made from much cheaper cloth, and there were no gold chains around his neck. "Your Highness! I am so sorry to disturb you, but I could not forsake the opportunity to meet you, and tell you what a great admirer I am of the things you are doing for Morocco. I would be proud if you would allow me to shake your hand." And, with a big smile and a look of adoration on his face, he stuck out his right hand.

The Prince looked pleased with being recognized. He allowed the boy to shake his hand and produced a gold coin from a pocket hidden in the folds of his djellaba. "For you," the Prince told the young man, whose look changed from adoration to astonishment.

"Oh, no, Your Highness. I could not accept anything from you. Merely meeting you is more than I could have ever hoped for."

"It would please me immensely if you would accept this small token." The Prince looked happier than Jeff had ever seen him.

The young man bowed. "Then I shall, Your Highness, but only to please you. No one in my village will believe I was fortunate enough to meet you."

To both Jeff's and the boy's amazement, the Prince produced a second gold coin. "Then you must accept this, too. That will give you one to spend and one to show your friends. Then they will believe you," and he handed the coin to the boy.

The young man bowed and backed away. He ran to his father, who was waiting outside the door of the dining room, and looked almost as surprised as his son when he saw the coins. "That was a very nice thing to do," Jeff told Bilal, slipping his hand out of his jacket.

"Do not attribute emotions to me which I do not possess, Mr. Spencer. It was a public relations move, nothing more, nothing less," Bilal tossed off before Jeff could say anything more.

The P.I. had seen the Princes' face, however, and he didn't for a moment believe what Bilal had just told him. There was genuine joy on the man's face when the boy recognized him, and true generosity when he gave the child the coins. He was not going to argue with his client, but Bilal had just proven to him that the Prince was not as mean a man as he'd at first thought. Maybe it was all an illusion, to protect him and his wives. Maybe he'd simply been in a bad mood the day he came to engage Bailey and Spencer._ No_, Jeff thought, _no mood could explain his threatening to strike Suzanne_. _And if he had . . ._

But he didn't. And now Jeff was more confused than ever. Which one was the real Prince Bilal? And how would he ever find out? Maybe it wasn't important. After all, he was just a client. Jeff didn't have to like or approve of the man. Still . . . his natural curiosity had been aroused. He realized the Prince had asked him a question. "I'm sorry, Your Highness, what did you ask me?"

"Have we spent enough time here, Mr. Spencer? Can we not return to the Trade Fair now? I am anxious to see as many exhibits as I can today. There are several seminars tomorrow that I wish to attend."

"I'll need to know which seminars you plan on attending, Prince Bilal, so that I can examine the venues and arrange appropriate security."

"Really, is all that necessary?"

"It is if your apprehensions about your life being in danger are correct. Are they, Your Highness? Is your life in danger?"

"Very much so. Alright, I will give you a list of the seminars and you can make the appropriate arrangements. Perhaps we can sit down later this afternoon?"

"That will be fine. As long as I have them with enough time to check out each one before the Fair closes. And the Fair closes at seven p.m. tonight."

"My wives could take a lesson in nagging from you," Bilal muttered under his breath as they left the dining room.

XXXXXXXX

Stu had much the same kind of day Jeff had, except more so. He was trying to keep track of all the wives and Zayed at the same time, and no matter what the woman had been told they tended to wander away from each other. Zayed insisted he had to make a phone call to one of his brothers, and it wouldn't wait until they returned to the hotel. Stuart procured one of the offices, pointed Zayed to the phone and closed the door. There were no windows in the room and the only way in or out was the single door, so Bailey felt fairly safe with the Sheikh out if his sight while he sat in the adjoining room with the women.

"You look tired, Mr. Bailey," Princess Nadia told him.

"I am tired, Your Highness," Stu replied politely. "But I've been tired before. I'll survive."

"This must all be terribly boring to you."

"It's my job, boring or not. I'm here to protect all the wives and Zayed."

"What time is it, Mr. Bailey?"

"It's a little after four o'clock, Your Highness."

Nadia smiled. "At least we will not stay here much longer. Zayed seems willing to leave soon."

"That's up to him." Stu was more than willing to go, but until Nadia told him, Zayed seemed to have little or no interest in leaving. The trip to McDonald's had been successful; the Sheikh was delighted with the cheeseburger and French fries he had. In fact, he enjoyed the cheeseburger so much that he had two of them.

"There is nothing like this in Saudi Arabia," he told Stu. "I must see if we can get a McDonald's franchise. That would be wonderful. I'll get one of my brothers to work on it."

"How many brothers do you have?" Stu asked innocently.

"Seventeen," Zayed replied. "How many do you have?"

"None, I'm afraid. But I do have a sister."

"That is a sad, sad thing, Stuart. To have no brothers to talk to."

"Well, I . . . " Stu was about to say that he knew what it was like to have a brother; after all, there was Jeff. He doubted if Zayed would understand the relationship. Sometimes he didn't, but he was glad for it.

Zayed finished his phone call and returned to Stu and his wives. "I think we should leave, Stuart. By the time we get back to the hotel and everyone has a nap it will be time for dinner."

Stu heard the word nap and fervently wished he could take one. He had at least another five or six hours before Kookie would take over for the night and Stu could go home and sleep. "Well, let's head for the limousine. Are we still on for Warner Brothers tomorrow?"

"Yes. My wives will stay at the hotel. There are several merchants coming to 'peddle their wares' as it were. I've given them free rein to buy what they want, so I'm afraid it will be an expensive day. It doesn't matter, I'm really looking forward to tomorrow."

XXXXXXXX

"Everything is all set. We should have our chance tomorrow when they leave Warner Brothers. Are you ready?"

"I've been ready for days. How much preparation do you think it takes to kill a private investigator?"

"I don't know and I don't care . . . as long as it gets done. I want Bailey off my back, permanently. Six feet under somewhere that he can't come back to haunt me. If you fail . . . "

"I won't fail."

1


	8. Chapter 8

The Death of Stuart Bailey

Chapter 8

He'd finally gotten all the details worked out, and everything was ready for tomorrow. Bilal could attend his seminars with the certainty that he would be protected. It was dinner via room service and five hours of sleep before he could return to his apartment. Then it was a long, hot shower, a shave and fresh clothes. He'd gotten it taken care of in less than two hours, which meant that if he hurried back to the Beverly Hilton Hotel he might get an extra hour's sleep. He hurried.

Actually he got two more hours of sleep before he heard someone knocking softly on his door. Jeff got up stiffly from the chair he'd been sleeping in and answered the knock. He didn't expect the person standing at his door. "Yasmine, has something happened? Do you need something?"

She looked up at him; there was an ugly red welt across her cheek and tears in her eyes. "I just . . . I just. . . please help me."

"Help you how?" Jeff had the feeling he knew what she wanted.

"Help me get away from that beast of a man."

"Come in and sit down." He closed the door behind her. "First – tell me . . . are you a slave to Prince Bilal?"

She shook her head slightly. "No, to one of his wives, Fatima."

"But you are a slave?"

"Yes."

"And Bilal did this to you?" Jeff put his fingers under her chin and turned her slightly to face him. He could see the mark on her face, obviously made by a hand. Jeff was growing angrier by the minute, but he kept his temper under control. This poor child was frightened enough.

She cast her eyes downward before giving him an answer. "Yes."

"Why?" He practically whispered. This was a girl, not much more than a child, and no one had the right to hit her. Slowly something else dawned on him. He'd questioned the Prince about keeping slaves, and the man lied to him. Looked him right in the eyes and lied to him. Jeff would like nothing better than to walk out on the Prince, but that would leave the women unprotected; besides, it was unprofessional. He waited, but she gave him no answer. That was an answer in itself.

"Yasmine, as long as you remain with the Prince there's nothing I can do to help you."

"I've heard whispers that there is no slavery in your country. Surely that can't be true?" she questioned doubtfully.

"It is true. At least, it's supposed to be true."

Yasmine answered quickly. "How do people live with no one to help them? No one to ridicule and beat; no one to blame when something goes wrong? To live like that would truly be a blessing. But how could I do that? Where would I go? I know no one in your country."

"You know me," Jeff reminded her.

"And you would help me leave the Prince? I have dreamed of a life where I was free; not bound to a man I loathe. But how would I live? Where would I live? And what would I have to do to gain this freedom?"

The girl had asked questions that, right now, he didn't have answers for. And he needed time to get them. The whole thing was risky and dangerous; Jeff knew that, but he couldn't leave her with people who abused her. "I think I can help you, but I need time to be sure. Can you give me twenty-four hours? Would you stay with Fatima another day?"

Her face fell as she realized there would be no release from her misery today. But then she brightened a bit, knowing that freedom was just a short grasp away. "I can wait, Mr. Spencer. I will return to this room in twenty-four hours. May Allah bless you."

And just as quickly as she had appeared she was gone. What had he gotten himself into? What was it that Stu always told him? "That heart of yours will get you in trouble someday." Had that very thing finally happened? He needed to talk to his partner . . . to ask for Stuart's advice – and help. Maybe he could catch Stu still at home. Jeff got an outside line on the phone and called Stu's apartment.

The phone rang three times before it was answered. "Hello?" A familiar voice inquired.

"Stu, it's Jeff. Something has come up here and I sure could use your help. Can you stop by on your way in? Well, I . . . No. I need a face to face. Anytime. Alright, see you soon." He hung up the phone and changed from his casual clothes to the dress clothes he'd brought with him. He went out to the sitting room and grabbed a cup of coffee and a Danish, then sat down to wait for his partner.

_Boy, I really stepped in it this time,_ he thought to himself. _I'm doing exactly what we said we wouldn't do. But how can I refuse to help her? She's just a child, really, an abused child. There had to be a way to get her out of here and in someplace safe. I hope Stu has some ideas._

He sat there another twenty minutes, so lost in thought that he forgot about the Danish. But when he heard the familiar footsteps he was at full attention immediately. Stu gave him a grim smile and went straight to the coffee. When he had a full cup in his hands he turned back to Jeff, who wore a 'help me, I'm drowning' look on his face. "Okay, what is it?"

"Not here. Follow me," and Jeff was up instantly and headed for the room he was literally living in. He closed the door behind them and moved to the far corner of the room. Stuart, naturally, followed him.

"Stop playing James Bond with me and stand still. That's it; now, what's the problem?"

"I didn't say there was a problem . . . but there is. Bilal brought a slave with him, a mere child actually. Her name is Yasmine and she wants to leave him. He's abusing her, Stu. Oh, not like that, I mean physically abusing her. I can't leave her here with him. I just can't. What should I do?"

It didn't take long to get an answer from Stuart. "Gil's advice be damned. You have to get her out. Is the Prince staying for the whole three days of the Fair?"

"Of course he is. He's utterly fascinated by everything being exhibited. I'll have to pry him out of here on Saturday night after the dinner." A thought suddenly struck Jeff. "That's it. The wives aren't attending the closing dinner Saturday night, which means they'll be here at the hotel. It should be easy enough for Yasmine to slip into this room, which none of the women will enter because I've slept here. You could be waiting for her and get her out of the hotel."

"I don't recall saying I would get mixed up in this, Jefferson."

"But you will, won't you, because we both know it's the right thing to do."

Stu sighed before answering. "You know I will. Alright, let's go over this one more time."

XXXXXXXX

"I can't do this thing you've asked of me," Zayed protested to the voice on the phone.

"You know what will happen if you don't."

"I know what you've threatened."

"We'll make sure it happens, Sheikh. Of course, if you have so many children that you won't miss your oldest . . . "

"I need to speak with her. I must know that she is unharmed."

"For ten seconds, Sheikh."

Zayed listened to dead silence for a few seconds, then he heard, "Daddy. Oh, Daddy. I am alright. Please save me from these men."

Then the silence again, before, "Satisfied? Are you going to cooperate or do we . . ."

"No, no, no, I will do this thing you demand of me, even though it is abhorrent. When do I get my sweet Anisah back?"

"When we're sure it's done." Click. The line went dead.

"Allah, help me. How can I do this terrible thing to someone who has been so kind to me?"


	9. Chapter 9

The Death of Stuart Bailey

Chapter 9

For Jeff, the next day was a repeat in the boring department. The only difference was that he got to sit down rather than stand all day. Prince Bilal moved from seminar to seminar, none of them interesting to Jeff, and seemed fascinated by every one he listened to. Spencer was bored to tears and had to look for coffee at every opportunity. All day the only things he could think about were Yasmine and the delicate operation of separating her from her 'master,' and Stu enjoying himself at Warner Brothers with Sheikh Zayed. Had he known what the day held for each of them, he wouldn't have traded places with his partner for the world.

Zayed and Stuart had a peaceful morning; several different kinds of coffee, followed by a leisurely breakfast and an hour of interesting conversation. Zayed had been many places and seen many things and was adept at talking about them. When it was time to leave for Warner Brothers, Zayed got quiet in a hurry. So quiet that Stu asked if he'd said or done something to offend the Sheikh.

"No, Stuart, no. You've done nothing wrong. I simply have something troublesome on my mind."

"I'm glad to hear that, Zayed. I've enjoyed getting to know you and I wouldn't want to do anything to change that."

Zayed watched the P.I. start to walk away, and almost blurted something out. He thought of Anisah and stopped before he could say anything.

The limo ride was subdued, considering how excited Zayed had been when it was initially arranged. They got to Soundstage Three and Bailey reminded Zayed there must be no talking when the cameras were rolling. Stu spotted his friend and they walked over to greet him. "Sheikh Zayed Bin Nadir al-Nahyan, this is my friend, Leslie Martinson. Les, this is Sheikh Zayed." The men shook hands.

"This is quite some place," Zayed stated, looking around. "I don't think I've ever seen so many lights in my whole life."

"Well, Sheikh, as you can see from the scenery, we're getting ready to shoot an outdoor scene. And as you can tell, we're certainly not outdoors. Believe me, we'll use every one of those lights before we're through."

"I see no Mavericks. How long does it take to set up a scene? And where do the actors go while they're waiting?"

"It can take anywhere from a few minutes to a few hours to get all the scenery in the right place. And the actors are usually in their dressing room, studying their scripts. Except for Jack Kelly. He's liable to be anywhere, causing untold mayhem."

Zayed appeared puzzled. "I don't understand."

"Kelly is a jokester of the first order. He could be anywhere, getting ready to play a trick on someone. Or he could actually be in his dressing room, but that's not likely." Les laughed a little. "You can't get mad at him, though. He's always ready when the cameras are, and he always knows his lines. Everybody loves Jack."

"And lines, those are the words they speak, no?"

"Yes, you're absolutely right. Here comes Jack now. They're ready to shoot." Kelly was a tall man, elegant in his gambler's clothes, and he walked with an easy grace. He carried his hat in his hand and put it on as he got to the stage.

"Where's my erstwhile opponent?" Kelly called out, and an extra came running in from the sidelines. "If I'm here, son, you should already be in place," and Jack put his arm across the man's shoulders and whispered something to him, causing both of them to laugh.

"Quiet on the set!" a man in the middle of the sidelines called. "Places." And the actors took their places. "Roll 'em!" The cameras rolled and the scene began. This was a relatively long scene and took almost three minutes to play out. "Cut!" the same man called. Kelly took his hat off and one of the makeup girls came running in and wiped his forehead down. He was sweating profusely.

"It all looks so seamless on television," Zayed marveled. "And I would have sworn they were outside."

Kelly looked up and saw Les motioning him over to where the three men were standing. He sauntered over to them and another round of introductions took place. "I'm pleased to meet you, Sheikh Zayed. What did you think of our little scene?"

"Very impressive, Mr. Kelly, especially to a man that watches you all the time on our little television station. And all eight of my wives agree that you are the best Maverick. They have more superlatives to say, of course, but I am too embarrassed to repeat them."

Kelly turned away and yelled out, "Hey, where's Garner filming? I've got fans!"

Finally somebody answered him. "They're over in Western Town today."

"Well, rats. Sorry, Sheikh, that's too far away or I'd take you to meet Jim. Garner, that is. He's a good fellow."

"Scene eight!" a man yelled, and Jack shook hands again with Zayed. "Sheikh Zayed, it was a pleasure to meet you. Be sure and give my love to all of your wives."

"Kelly!" somebody yelled.

"Coming, mother," and Jack took off for the set.

They did the next scene, which Zayed watched with rapt attention, and then called, "Stage four, everybody."

"We can talk now," Les told them.

"I thought you were directing today, Les," Stu remarked.

"I was supposed to, but there was a last-minute change. Since you were coming I figured it was just as well." Martinson turned to Zayed. "They've moved to another Soundstage. Would you like to take a tour? With me as your guide, of course."

"I would be honored and humbled to tour with you, Mr. Martinson."

"Please, call me Les."

And the three men were off on a walking tour of the Soundstage. It took them almost ninety minutes before they returned to their original spot. "Much as I hate to leave you two, I'm afraid I have to be at another part of the lot in a few minutes. It was a pleasure to meet you, Sheikh. Stu, you're always welcome. Still dating that bevy of blondes?"

"No, Les, as a matter of fact I think I've turned the corner. The current object of my affections is a beautiful brunette named AnaLise."

"A model, of course."

"Of course!" Stu laughed.

Zayed and Stuart headed for the door, but before Stu opened it, Zayed caught him by the arm. "I cannot do it, Stuart." Stu tried to pull away from the Sheikh, but Zayed wouldn't let him go. "I cannot let you walk out there. No matter what they do to my Anisah, I cannot let you be killed on her account."

"What are you talking about, Zayed? You're not making any sense. This is where we came in." What silly notion had watching two scenes of 'Maverick' given the Sheikh?

"Is there someplace we may talk privately, Stuart? It is of the utmost importance."

"I think so. I saw an empty room not far from here. Come with me."

Zayed followed this man that had become more than just a protector. He'd become a friend, and Zayed had to warn him, no matter the consequences. Anisah would understand.

There was only one chair in the room and Stu naturally deferred to the Sheikh. "No, my friend, it is you who will need the chair. Please, sit."

Stu thought it strange but did as the Sheikh asked. "What is this all about, Zayed?"

"It is about keeping you alive, Stuart. Possibly at the expense of my oldest daughter."

"I think you better tell me the whole story, Zayed."

"Yes. Yes, I think so, too."

1


	10. Chapter 10

The Death of Stuart Bailey

Chapter 10

"When we first arrived in this country we had no bodyguard. I didn't think we needed one. I was so wrong. Anisah decided to explore the hotel – it is beautiful, and she wants to study architecture to help the modernization of our country. You must understand, this is a great honor, to have a daughter that is so bright and beautiful, and one who is allowed to go to college. I thought nothing of her being absent until her mother Aliyah came to me concerned. She had been gone for two or three hours, and we worried, the way any parents would.

"That's when the phone call came. The voice on the phone told me my daughter had been kidnapped, and the men that had her were holding her for ransom . . . but not monetary ransom. I was told to contact you and engage your services as a bodyguard. Additional instructions would arrive after I had done so. The next phone call I received told me that I was to insist we visit a movie or television studio and get you to take me there. They wanted to know the time of the visit and which studio it was . . . and that's when I was informed of their plan – their plan to murder you.

"They warned me not to tell you anything, or Anisah would die. They called again last night, to repeat their threat. She is supposed to be returned to me when they are sure you are dead. Murdered by me, just as surely as if I had pulled the trigger myself. I could not go through with it, my friend, even if it costs me Anisah. That is the whole story, Stuart, I swear on my daughter's life."

Stu was stunned. Such a complicated plan, and much of it depended on Zayed. How much of their 'friendship' had been real and how much part of an elaborate murder scheme? How could he trust anything the Sheikh had told him? And yet, if it wasn't the truth, why would Zayed stop him from going outside and solving the problem once and for all? "Have you told me the truth, Zayed?"

"I swear to you, Stuart. On my daughter's life."

Stu's mind was going a thousand miles a minute. He had an idea, but it was going to take the cooperation of Roy Gilmore, an ambulance, Les Martinson and Jeff. He picked up the inside telephone and had Les paged first. He called back right away and Stu stopped him as soon as he got, "What's happening?" out of his mouth.

"I need a big favor, Les. Do any of the police in your shows wear bullet-proof vests? They do. Can you get your hands on one and bring it back to Soundstage Three? As soon as possible. I'll explain everything when you get here." Next he got an outside line and called Lieutenant Gilmore. "Gil, I need your help to save a young girl's life. One of our visitors from Saudi Arabia. When the call comes in that I've been shot, I need you to take it. Get over to Warner Brothers Soundstage Three and bring an ambulance with you. No, I have no intention of really getting shot. And I need you and the ambulance people to let it be known that I'm dead. Yes, I know the newspapers will pick it up. I want them to. I'll explain everything at the hospital.

"This is only going to work if everyone thinks I'm dead. No leaks, Gil. We need reliable ambulance attendants. Yes, the girl is Sheikh Zayed Bin Nadir al-Nahyan's daughter. Remember, everybody has to play out the scene as if I'm mortally wounded. I don't know who's got her, and this is the only way I can think to get her out. Yes, I know. But we both know that a girl's life is more important than rules. Right. Right away. And I am telling Jeff the truth. I need his help. Yes, I will. Goodbye."

Stu then called the L.A. Memorial Sports Arena. "I need the paging system, please. Could you please page Jeff Spencer, he should be in the area where the seminars are held. Yes, I'll wait." Several minutes passed and Stu was beginning to lose hope when Jeff finally answered the call. "I thought I better call you and tell you. I'm going to be killed this afternoon. Of course not. It's a long story and I don't want you to tell anyone else. I need it to look real. Gil's in on it, and so is Les Martinson over here at Warner Brothers. I'll meet you at the office after everyone is gone and fill you in. Remember, I'm dead. Ha, ha, very funny. Get Kookie to fill in with Zayed and his wives, but only after you hear about me. Right. I'll explain it all tonight. Send everybody home after the news breaks. I know. I'll make it up to them. Alright. You, too."

Les Martinson was coming back to Soundstage three, carrying what looked to be a bullet-proof vest. And a worried look. "Stu, tell me you're not gonna use this. It's not as good as the police wear because it doesn't have to be. It's lighter in weight and . . . "

"Les, I have to wear it. It may be the only thing that saves my life. Let me explain . . ." Stu laid out the whole plan for Les, who let loose a whistle when Bailey was through. "You're risking a lot to try and save a girl you don't even know."

"I have to, Les. Her father just saved my life."

"By getting you involved in this hare-brained plot?"

Stu shook his head. "By stopping me from walking out that door. I'd be dead for real if I had."

Les handed over the vest. "That's why you're a private investigator and I'm a director. Be careful, huh?"

Stuart patted his old friend on the shoulder. "Thanks, Les. Call the police as soon as you hear the gunfire, will you? Ask for Lieutenant Gilmore. He'll take it from there."

Stu walked back to the empty office and closed the door, He then took off his sport coat and shirt, then put on the vest. Les was right, this vest was lighter than the vests the police wore. He had no choice; this was better than nothing. He put the shirt back on, then the sport coat. It was a tight fit, but it would work.

When he got back to Zayed he was calm and ready to make this happen. "Did they give you any instructions on what you're supposed to do?"

Zayed nodded, looking like he was going to be sick to his stomach. "Let you go out first, stay behind and give you a shove."

"Out into the line of fire, no doubt." Stu wore a smirk on his face. He just prayed to God that the vest did its job.

"Stuart, please don't go out there," there was a pleading tone in Zayed's voice.

"I have to, Sheikh. We have to get your girl back, and this is the only way. Remember, I've been shot and I'm bleeding all over the place."

"That will not be hard to imagine."

And Stuart opened the door.

XXXXXXXX

He'd only taken one step outside when he felt Zayed's hand in his back, gently shoving him forward. It was mere seconds until he heard the shots, three in succession, and felt the impact. It wasn't difficult to believe he'd been hit; they knocked the wind out of him and hurt like hell. He dropped to the ground and coughed a time or two, then lay still. He could hear Zayed yelling, "He's been shot! He's been shot!" and the sound of people running.

In just a few moments Les was there, with genuine concern in his voice. "Stu, you still with me?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," Stu gasped.

Then Zayed took Martinson's place at his side so that Les could call Lieutenant Gilmore. Less than five minutes later he heard sirens, and soon after that Zayed was replaced by Gil. "Move these people back," Gil instructed one of his men. When there was some breathing room between the 'injured' man and the crowd, Gil muttered, almost to himself, "I gotta turn you over."

Gil did just that, and Stu kept his eyes closed. Another siren, different than the police cars, could be heard, and Stu knew the ambulance was on the way. It wouldn't be long now. Then there were hands, unknown hands, picking him up and placing him on a gurney. They covered him with a blanket and wheeled him into the ambulance. Before the doors closed he heard Gil tell someone, "It doesn't look good."

Once the ambulance had gotten a mile or more away, the attendant with him remarked, "You can get up now, Mr. Bailey. Let's get that sport coat and shirt off so we can get the vest off. I want to see just what kind of damage those bullets did to you."

Stu sat up and removed his sport coat and shirt, then the attendant helped get him out of the bullet-proof vest. "Lay back down, please," he was instructed. There were a few, "Hmm hms,""Ah-ha," and "I see's" while the man examined Stu carefully. "Well, Mr. Bailey, you're going to have some ugly bruising, but other than that you seem to be alright. You can put your clothes back on."

"If you don't mind my asking, where are the bruises?"

"You're a lucky man, Mr. Bailey. If you didn't have the vest on, you'd be a dead man right now. All three shots hit the heart."

"A professional."

They were at the hospital in five minutes. "Were you supposed to die in the ambulance on the way here?"

Stu was sitting up buttoning his shirt, and he nodded. "That way you can take the body straight to the morgue. Make sure you tell Lieutenant Gilmore that I died. Then he can announce it to the press. We need everybody to know what happened. And thanks for doing this."

"No problem. We owed the Lieutenant a favor. Alright, time to lie back down. Sorry about this, but I have to cover you with a sheet. I'll remove it as soon as we get to the morgue."

"Some place I wasn't anxious to visit."

"Look at it this way Mr. Bailey. At least you don't have to stay there."

He was wheeled out and into the hospital. Gil arrived just a minute later. He saw the sheet and played along. "You lost him?"

"Yes sir," the attendant responded. "He didn't have a chance."

"Damn. I'd like to go to the morgue with you. He was a good friend." Gil sounded appropriately somber.

"Sure, Lieutenant."

Both men were silent as they rode the elevator down to the morgue. Once they got inside the closed doors, the attendant pulled the sheet off and Stu smiled up at Gil. "You should have been an actor, my friend."

"Me? I didn't have to play dead. Where'd he get you?"

"Three shots, right in the heart. This was no amateur, Gil. This man knew what he was doing."

"Any ideas about who hates you enough to pay the kind of money this hitman must charge?"

Stu laughed as he jumped down off the gurney. "Only two or three dozen. I'll know more when I can get to my files. Meantime, send a police guard over to Zayed's suite, would you? And see if his daughter shows up. I'll be at the office with Jeff."

"Not in those clothes, you won't. You just died in those clothes. Johnny, get him a set of scrubs, and a baseball cap. I'll take 'em back to my office and keep 'em there. And you be careful. I don't want the dead man getting dead for real. I'll call Jeff and tell him you're on the way."

"Thanks, Gil. And thanks for the scrubs, Johnny." Stu sighed. "My mother always wanted me to be a doctor. Too bad I had to die to become one."

1


	11. Chapter 11

The Death of Stuart Bailey

Chapter 11

Jeff got to the office as fast as he could. He couldn't beat the news bulletin that interrupted the music, and it made him sick to his stomach to hear. It didn't matter that he knew it wasn't supposed to be real. What if something had gone wrong? What if the vest didn't work? What if right now Stu was lying in the morgue, waiting for someone to identify the body_? Stop it, Jeff. Stu had this all worked out, and nothing went wrong. _But what if it did?

He pulled into the lot and Kookie ran over. "Tell me it ain't so, dad. Tell me I heard them wrong. Tell me there was a mistake."

"I can't, Kookie, I can't tell you any of those things." Jeff didn't have to pretend to be upset; he really was. He scooted in the side door before he had to say anything else. The door that led directly to Stu's office, and as soon as he got inside the doubts and worries started all over again. _Get it together, Jefferson. You have to go out and lie to Suzanne and Roscoe._ _That's going to be the hardest part._

He unlocked the door between the offices and walked into his. He hadn't seen it in two or three days, and somehow the sight of it now was comforting. _Just remember why he did it this way. A young girls life was at stake, and the whole world needs to believe he's gone. I just hope he's not._

Jeff cleared his throat and reached for the doorknob. Suzanne and Roscoe were listening to the broadcast on the radio. As soon as Suzanne saw him she flew to his side. "Oh, Jeff, please tell me they're wrong. Tell me there was a mistake and Stuart's not dead." She began sobbing, leaning on his shoulder.

Jeff put his arm around her. "I wish I could tell you that, Suzanne. You don't know how much I want to tell you that the radio was wrong. But I can't. I can't tell you that this is all a mistake." He gave the crying woman his handkerchief and turned to Roscoe. "Taka her home, would you Roscoe? Take my car, I'm staying here. No, don't worry about bringing it back tonight. I couldn't stand to go home anyway. Just bring it back . . . whenever. Go, please."

Roscoe nodded and took Suzanne out the door. Jeff followed him and locked it. Then he went back to his office and sat numbly behind his desk. All he could do now was wait. How long, he didn't know. He crossed back into Stu's office and pulled open the bar his partner kept. Once he'd found a glass, he poured himself a brandy and drank it slowly. A thousand thoughts ran through his mind again, beginning with something going wrong and ending up back on that slab in the morgue. He poured himself another brandy and sat down behind Stu's desk. How many times had he sat in this office and discussed one thing or another? Were they ever going to do that again? Jeff looked down and realized his glass was empty. Two brandies and he didn't feel anything but worry and fear. And an ache in the pit of his stomach.

Eventually, the brandy made its presence known and he crossed his arms on the desk and rested his head on them. It only took a few seconds before he was fast asleep.

He didn't know how long he'd been sleeping, but something startled him awake. He opened his eyes and yawned and found a doctor in a baseball cap sitting across from him. _I must be dreaming_. _Or hallucinating. _And then the doctor spoke. "You can't have my office, Jefferson. At least not until I'm dead."

Jeff could have leaped across the desk, he was so happy to hear that voice. "Stu!"

"That's Doctor Stu to you."

"What are you doing in those clothes?"

Stu chuckled, or something like it, before he spoke. "As Gil pointed out, I died in the clothes I had on. We were down in the morgue, so the only thing available was a set of scrubs. And the baseball cap was my disguise. Now, have you heard anything from Zayed?"

"Not a word. Bilal was nice enough to let me go once we'd heard about the shooting. He and his wives are all tucked into The Penthouse for the night. Gil sent an officer over to stay by the elevator. He does expect me back in the morning. His kindness lasts less than twenty-four hours. Alright, you owe me an explanation. A complete explanation. What's this all about, besides Zayed's daughter? And do you have any idea who wants you dead?"

That last question elicited a burst of laughter. "Only fifteen or twenty people, and that's before I really think about it." Stu got up from the chair and headed for the bar. And the brandy. "Any more?" he asked Jeff.

"No, sir, I've had enough. The last one gave me hallucinations. I thought I saw a doctor."

"I don't know what it's going to do to me, but I haven't eaten anything since breakfast and I have to have something inside of me."

"I have some jerky in my desk."

"My stomach blanches at the mere thought of it. Why, pray tell, do you have jerky in your desk?"

"Well, it's simple really. I went to see how David Fowler was doing, and I remembered that his mother said he could have jerky for a snack. So I bought some. I left about a dozen with Elizabeth but she wouldn't take anymore. Said David would eat too many at a time. So I brought the rest back to the office. Now quit stalling, drink the brandy, and tell me why you had to die."

Stu told him the whole story while he nursed the brandy. When he got to Gil and him and the ambulance attendant in the morgue, he stopped for a minute. "You know, it's really odd sitting on this side of the desk. Gives one a whole new perspective."

"Don't get used to it. What's the next step?"

"That old chestnut that we both hate. We wait. We wait until Zayed phones and says he's got his girl back again. Then we can tell everyone here the truth."

"Be careful. Kookie might throw something at you."

"I'll take the chance."

XXXXXXXX

They sat the rest of the night, waiting for the phone to ring. When it didn't, both men began to have doubts. The same old questions. Had something gone wrong? Had someone talked? Had the elaborate charade been for nothing? Finally, with dawn approaching, it became clear . . . Stu's attempted killer was waiting for the morning papers to confirm that the private investigator was really dead.

"Well, if we're going to wait for the Times and the Chronical to corroborate I'm dead, I have to have some coffee. Go see Phillipe over at Dino's. Just get one cup – we'll share it. We've only got an hour or two until the papers hit the newsstands. Something should move then."

"Alright, but lock the door behind me. We don't want this to all blow up now."

"Right."

Jeff left for the kitchen of Dinos, where Phillipe was beginning to prepare that day's meals. Kookie was already gone, so there was no one to stop Spencer and ask him questions he didn't want to answer. When he got to the kitchen Phillipe didn't greet him with the usual smile. The Chef looked sober when he said good morning to Jeff. "Have you been here all night?" Phillipe queried.

Jeff nodded. He wasn't sure he trusted his voice right now.

"Coffee?" was Phillipe's next question.

Another nod.

"One or two?"

Jeff found his voice at last. "Why would I need two, Phillipe?"

The Chef cocked his head and gave Jeff a strange smile. "Perhaps you are very tired from not sleeping and need two coffees to wake up?"

The answer came quickly. "Yes, yes I would. I mean yes, I am. Two cups, Phillipe. And thank you for being so perceptive."

"What kind of a man would I be if I did not understand there is a reason for everything?"

Jeff took the two cups of coffee from the Chef and hurried back to the Bailey and Spencer offices side entrance. He knocked on the door and a strange voice called "Yes?"

"It's Jeff," he answered.

Stu opened the door carefully. "Sorry, I had to be sure."

"That was you?"

"Who did you think it was? Wait, what are you doing with two cups of coffee?" Stu was confused, when they'd agreed to order only one cup.

"Phillipe is a very good friend. He understood, without asking for any explanations." Jeff handed his partner a cup, then took a quick sip of his. "I think I need a transfusion of this stuff. Bilal expects me there today. And we still have the issue of Yasmine to deal with. That means that you'll have to stay here and pray nobody has a key for this office."

"Call Roscoe and get him to bring your car back. That way you can at least go home and clean up. I'll be in touch later. Let's hope that Zayed really gets Anisah back so I can resurrect Stu Bailey. Tonight is the ending dinner tonight at the Fair, isn't it? That means I'll need to get over to The Penthouse so I can get your slave girl out. Any suggestions?"

Jeff was already dialing Roscoe. "Roscoe? It's Jeff. I have to go babysit Prince Bilal today, so I need my car after all. How fast can you get here? Good. I'll see you then." He turned to Stu, who'd sat back down on the couch in his office. "Suggestions? Yeah, the dinner runs from six to nine p.m., so you have to get her out somewhere in that stretch. Hopefully as close to six as you can get. Yasmine understands that she has to be in the separate bedroom before six, so all you have to do is knock on the door and she'll let you in."

"All I have to do? That's if everything works the way it's supposed to. You know that never happens."

"Let's just hope you're 'undead' by then. I have to go, Roscoe will be here soon. Lock the door behind me."

Stu saluted and smirked. "Aye, aye, captain."

"Don't make me unhappy that you're alive."

XXXXXXXX

"I told you I don't miss. In case you want proof, here it is." He threw the _Los Angeles Times_ down on the desk. It hadn't made the headline; that belonged to something President Eisenhower had done. But it made the first page, right below the fold. _Hollywood Privet Eye Killed at Warner Brothers. _

The story read_: Famed Private Detective Stuart Bailey was killed yesterday, right outside Soundstage Three on the Warner Brothers Lot. He was shot while working as a bodyguard for Sheikh Zayed Bin Nadir al-Nahyan, who is here for the World Trade Fair. Police say they believe the shots came from a five-story building that faces the . Bailey was hit three times . . ._

"Now do you believe me?"

"I didn't say I didn't believe you. I just needed some proof. I can't believe I've finally got that leech off my back."

"What are you gonna do with the kid?"

"I'm feeling generous today. Send her back to her old man."

A few minutes later the door to another room opened. The girl sitting in the chair was bound and gagged, and there was fear in her eyes when she saw the man. "What a shame," he said. "You're an awfully pretty piece of woman to waste. If I had my druthers . . . but I don't, so you can stop looking so scared. The boss says you go back to your father. I'm going to untie your legs so you can stand up and walk, but that's all I'm untying until I get you back to the hotel. Any funny business and I'll put a bullet in you. Understand?"

The girl nodded. As soon as she could stand she did so. The man pushed her towards the door. "Let's go home. Daddy's waiting."


	12. Chapter 12

The Death of Stuart Bailey

Chapter 12

Once Jeff arrived at The Beverly Hilton Hotel he notified the Prince, then went straight to the room that had been set aside for his use. Within a few minutes there was a soft knock at the door and when he opened it he found Yasmine. "Can you still help me flee Bilal? Now that your partner is dead? I heard the wives talking this morning."

"Don't worry about that, Yasmine. I'll get you ought tonight. There will be someone here for you right after six o'clock. Will you have any trouble getting away?"

"No, I shouldn't. I'll do my best to be here right at six, but please urge your man to stay if I am a little late. Sometimes Fatima demands something at the last moment when she knows I want to leave." She paused, then cast her eyes downward and continued in a hushed voice, "I am sorry about you partner. He must have been a friend, too."

"Yes, you're right. I have to go, Yasmine. You should leave first." And the girl slipped out as easily as she'd slipped in. Jeff made sure the outside door to the room was unlocked, then hurried back to Bilal. "I'm ready to go, Prince Bilal. At your leisure, of course."

"Of course, Mr. Spencer. I am ready, also."

One floor down, in The Presidential Suite, Zayed waited nervously to hear any word of his daughter. He appreciated everything Stuart had done, but he was beginning to wonder if it was all for naught. He paced nervously back and forth and chewed on his fingernails, a bad habit he'd developed since coming to this country. Why hadn't he heard anything? Surely the kidnappers were aware of the news by now that Stuart Bailey was dead, just as they had demanded. He wondered if it had all been in vain, if his precious Anisah was gone anyway; if the kidnappers had seen through the elaborate hoax and taken the life of an innocent girl.

He looked at his watch, something else he had begun wearing once he was in this country. Almost ten o'clock. He sat down on the sofa and held his head in his hands and wept. The only conclusion he could come to was the one he dreaded the most – Anisah was dead.

And then, like a prayer answered by Allah, there was a knock on the door. Zayed wiped his face on his robes and went to answer it . . . and there stood his beloved Anisah. She rushed into his arms and clung to him, while he kissed the top of her head again and again. This time the tears he wept were of joy rather than pain. "Praise be to Allah! Praise be to Allah! And bless you, Stuart Bailey, for being wiser than a foolish old man. My darling, darling girl, I am so happy to see you."

"But father, Mr. Bailey . . . "

"Do not worry, my Anisah, Bailey has a God, too, even if it is the wrong God. Now go, go to your mother, she is prostrate with fear." As soon as his daughter had left for her mother's chambers Zayed dialed Bailey's office. Stuart answered on the first ring. "Hello? Please tell me this is Zayed."

"It is, dear Stuart, and you were right. My girl is home. "

"Is she alright, Zayed? Unharmed?"

"She is fine, at least physically. Come see for yourself, when you can. I think we must resurrect Stuart Bailey first."

"We'll do that later, Zayed. Thank you for phoning."

"No, Stuart, thank you for returning my Anisah to me."

XXXXXXXX

"Roscoe, I heard something in Stuart's office."

"You're hearing things, Frenchy."

"I'm telling you I heard something in there. A voice. Go see if there's someone in there, please."

"Alright. Just for you." Roscoe walked over to Stu's office and tried the door. "Locked."

"Who has a key?" Suzanne was sure she'd heard someone in Stu's office.

"Jeff. Kookie. Kookie! I'll go get him." Roscoe hurried out to the parking lot, where Kookie sat forlornly reading the paper.

He shook his head as Roscoe approached. "I just can't believe it, Roscoe. It will never be the same around here without dad." He folded up his paper. "What can I do for you?"

"Have you got a key to Stu's office?"

"Stu's office? Sure. But what . . ."

"Frenchy thinks she heard something in there. I told her I'd check it out."

Kookie jumped up. "Junior, watch the lot," he called to one of his boys and led Roscoe back inside. "Suzanne, are you imagining things?"

"I am not, Kookie, I heard a voice in Stuart's office."

"The ghost of dads' past," Kookie intoned solemnly.

Just as Kookie took two steps towards the door of Stu's office, the door opened and Stuart himself stepped out, still dressed in scrubs but minus the baseball cap . Roscoe fainted. Suzanne screamed, then ran for her boss. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. "Well," he said when she pulled away, "If I'd known my returning from the dead would have engendered this response, I would have died sooner."

"Stuart! How could you do that to us! How we suffered since we heard the news. It was all over the radio and the television and the newspapers. You must have had a very good reason."

"I did, Suzanne, and I'm sorry I had to do that to all of you. Someone out there wanted me dead, and an innocent girl's life depended on them believing I was. What you heard, Suzanne, was me taking a phone call from her father telling me that she'd been returned safely to him, unharmed."

"But who wanted you dead, dad?" Kookie asked.

"That, my young friend, is the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. I have no idea. I have to stay dead for a while and see what I can turn up. Roscoe, when you get up off the floor I want you to go to the Theatrical Makeup Supply Company down on Thirty-Fifth Street and pick up some supplies for me. Here's the list of what I need. And here's the money. Take a cab. My car is up in Beverly Hills. Kookie, I need you to do a little shopping for me. Again, here's the list and here's the money. When the two of you are done come back here with the goods and go get my car."

"What do you want me to do, Stuart?"

"Besides sit there and look beautiful? Go over to Dino's and get me something to eat. Anything will do. I haven't eaten since breakfast yesterday."

"Stuart, Jeff has some jerky in his desk."

Stu made the appropriate face. "I know, Suzanne, I know." He turned back to Kookie and Roscoe. "Now run, run, run, little rabbits. I'd like to stay dead no longer than necessary." All three hurried to their appointed tasks and left Stu wondering why he deserved such loyal and forgiving friends. He returned to his office, leaving the door open this time, and waited.

Suzanne was back first, with coffee, an omelet and a croissant. Stu dug in, and wasn't sure he'd tasted anything quite so good. Kookie returned next, with every item on the list. "I had to go see Margie to get the djellaba and turban. With the Trade Fair in town, she had plenty. Didn't even ask me what I needed them for."

Stu smiled. Trust Margie to have the right clothes, even a djellaba. Margie Kovack ran a costume store over on Lancaster Street, and the Bailey & Spencer firm had needed Margie's supplies and services from time to time. Margie usually had what you were looking for, and if she didn't she could get it in a reasonable amount of time and for a reasonable amount of money. And the best part was, Margie never asked what you needed whatever you were looking for. They'd gotten some pretty outlandish clothes from her over the years but Margie never said a word to anyone.

Roscoe came back last. That was to be expected, considering all the things on Stu's list. "Did they have everything?" Stu asked his operative.

"Everything but the spirit gum. They were out of it, so I went to the store just down the block. They had it."

"What store just down the block?" Stu was curious. He couldn't remember a store down the block.

"You didn't know?"

"No, when did that open? Where is it, and what's it called?"

"It opened in the old Woolworth building down at the wrong end of the Sunset Strip. It's called Makeup for Everything. Got some fine looking fillies in there, too."

"And you didn't tell anybody it was for me?"

Roscoe looked skeptical. "And make you dead again? This time for real? No sir, not me."

Stu piled his purchases high on his desk. Then he called all three of his friends together. "I want to thank you all for not verbally crucifying me when I turned up alive. The last thing I ever wanted to do was cause any pain or suffering, and that's just what I did. But there was a reason for it, and that reason was easy – it had to be done to save Zayed's daughter, Anisah. She was kidnapped and her ransom was a simple one – my death for her freedom. We still don't know who's behind it, but as of this morning, she's home and safe.

"Jeff needs help freeing another kidnap victim of sorts – the slave girl owned by Prince Bilal. Her name is Yasmine and she wishes to stay here in the United States."

"I thought you dads weren't gonna work for anyone who brought slaves," Kookie interrupted.

"That's right, Kookie, that was our intent. But Bilal lied to Jeff. He did bring a slave . . . Yasmine. Tonight I'm going to get her out while Jeff and the Prince are at the closing dinner for the Trade Fair. Look, I need you all to do one more thing for me . . . assume I'm still dead. Gil and the ambulance attendant know I'm not, of course, and so does Zayed. All have agreed to remain silent. At least for one more night."

"But if you're going to stay dead, Stuart, how . . ." Suzanne stopped and looked at her boss quizzically.

Stu chuckled for the first time in days. "I'm going in disguise."

Suzanne still looked bewildered. "And that's what you need all this . . . déchet for?"

Stu nodded. Now she understood. "Yes."

"What about whoever it was that kidnapped Anisah and wanted you dead. Any ideas there?" Kookie was thinking ahead.

"Two or three, Kookie, come to mind immediately. Problem is I haven't had the time or the opportunity to investigate. Once this is all over and Yasmine is free, I'll start checking into it. For now it has to stay an unsolved puzzle, I'm afraid. That's another reason I'm going to remain a murder victim, at least for a day. It gives me the chance to find out a few things I might not be able to otherwise. I've got some calls to make, and then I'm going to begin changing into someone else. Another Moroccan Prince, perhaps. Or just your everyday Middle Eastern thug. Suzanne, about two o'clock go down to the sandwich shop and get lunch for everyone, me included. They won't poke their noses in where they don't belong. If someone questions four sandwiches, they'll assume Jeff 's here. Au revoir pour le moment, mes amis."

**Author's Note : There will be no posting chapters again until sometime on December 20, 2019. Have no fear, the story will be contined then. And thank you for your patience.**


	13. Chapter 13

The Death of Stuart Bailey

Chapter 13

Jeff excused himself to go to the restroom, but he went to a payphone instead. "Stu?"

"All set, Jeff," his partner answered. "I'm leaving now for the hotel."

"You sure nobody is going to recognize you?"

Stu chuckled. "I'm positive. Go back to dinner. And quit worrying."

"Aye, aye, captain." Jeff hung up the phone and hurried back to the dinner, sitting right next to Prince Bilal, of course. It was dull, it was boring, but not any worse than the rest of the week had been. If Stu pulled this off, and there was no reason to believe he wouldn't, Jeff would probably see nothing beyond the retainer the Prince had paid. But it would all be worth it. He tried to concentrate on the speakers sitting on the dais, but they would put him to sleep if he continued to listen to them. He had to stay awake.

XXXXXXXX

Suzanne couldn't believe her eyes when she saw the man that emerged from Stu's office. Swarthy is the term she would have used, and she would have been right. Dressed in a dusty brown djellaba and turban, his skin was almost a nutmeg color, and his hair and beard were close to black. When he spoke it was in French, and his voice had a guttural sound to it. Suzanne just stared at him with her mouth open.

Kookie came in from outside, took one look at the man and said, "What's up, dad?"

"Kookie," Stuart replied, "you spoiled it. I had Suzanne just about ready to call the police. How did you know?"

"I'm the one that bought the clothes and the turban, remember?"

"That's right . . . you did. Can you come with me?"

"Right now?"

"Right now."

"You need a chauffeur?"

"I need a back-up, just in case something goes wrong."

Kookie nodded. "You got it, dad. When do we leave?"

"Five minutes ago."

"You heeled, dad?"

Stuart patted the shoulder holster he wore under the djellaba. "I wish you wouldn't use that term. It belongs back in the old West in the 1800s."

"Should I just ask if you're packing?"

"That would be better. Come on, we don't have much time to get to the hotel."

Once they were out the door, Roscoe emerged from Jeff's office and told Suzanne, "Close your mouth, Frenchie, that was just the boss. Makes a pretty good Arab, don't he?"

Suzanne just nodded.

XXXXXXXX

"So what's the game, dad? Just get the chick out?" Kookie asked when they were almost to The Beverly Hilton Hotel.

"That's it, Kookie. She's in the Penthouse, and with any luck she should be in what was serving as Jeff's quarters, just about now."

"And Jeff is where?"

"He's at the Trade Fair closing dinner at the L.A. Memorial Sports Arena. With our friend Bilal. As a matter of fact, he's sitting next to Bilal through the whole thing. It's the perfect cover. I'm dead and Bilal knows exactly where Jeff is."

"You're devious, dad."

"I've been called worse."

"Well, here we are," Kookie pulled up right in front of the place.

Stu got out and employed the Moroccans voice, just in case anyone heard him. "Wait here. Keep the motor running. If I'm not back in fifteen minutes, come after me."

Kookie watched Stuart swagger away from the car and through the lobby. He was alone in the elevator, and as the doors began to close he gave Kookie the thumbs-up sign.

The elevator rose slowly, up to the seventh floor and The Penthouse. As the doors opened his stomach gave a little flutter; he wasn't surprised. It sounded so easy . . . open the side door, get the girl and bring her out, back to Kookie and the waiting car. It was always the easy sounding ones that made him just a little nervous. He'd been to The Penthouse with Jeff and he knew exactly where the side door was. There was only one problem – one of the Prince's wives was standing in the hall smoking a cigarette. She was wearing a bright yellow djellaba.

Stu never got off the elevator. Instead he let the doors close and waited to see if it was called back down to a lower floor. It wasn't, and he sat on the top floor of the Beverly Hilton Hotel for more than five minutes.

Finally, he took a chance that the woman would be gone and opened the elevator doors once more. He watched the back of her vanish through a door at the other end of the hall. Stu hopped out of the elevator, hurried to the right door and pulled it open. Inside stood a young girl of fifteen or sixteen, wearing another djellaba, but this one was a dirty gray color and had no hood. It had to be her. "Yasmine?" Stu asked in his own voice.

She stared at him with wild eyes. Who was this Arab with the American voice? She said nothing, terrified to give the wrong person an answer.

It took a minute for Stu to understand. "Yasmine, Jeff Spencer sent me. I've come to take you out of here."

For some reason she decided to trust this strange-looking man. "I am Yasmine."

Stu opened the door. "Let's get out of here before Bilal and Jeff return from the dinner. I have a car waiting downstairs for us."

"Who are you?" the girl asked.

"If I told you, you wouldn't believe me. I'll explain everything when we get to the Bailey and Spencer offices. Come with me, please."

She followed the Arab looking man out the door, locking it behind her. Stu rushed to the elevator and the doors opened immediately. He stepped inside and Yasmine followed, still not sure who had just rescued her. They walked carefully through the lobby and out the front doors of the hotel. When they reached the car, Stu opened the door for her. Before she got inside she asked once more, "Who are you?"

"I'm Stu Bailey, Jeff's partner. And I'm not dead."

Satisfied at last, she climbed into the car. Stu followed her quickly, and Kookie drove away. "Any trouble, dad?"

"None to speak of," came the reply. "Yasmine, this is Kookie. He also works with Jeff and me, part-time."

"How can you be alive?" The girl asked. "I heard talking about how you were shot."

"He's magic, Yasmine," Kookie told her in all seriousness.

"I'll explain it to you later, Yasmine. I promise." There was the tiniest bit of irritation in Stu's voice, he'd already told the girl he would explain it later. Just then Kookie made the turn into the parking lot, pulling up right in front of the back door to the building. Stu unlocked the door and Kookie went back to the parking lot. Yasmine followed Stu inside. "You sit here while I wash off this makeup. Are you hungry?"

"Yes, sir, I am."

"Anything in particular you'd like?"

Suzanne had unlocked the front door to Stu's office when she heard voices. "This must be Yasmine."

Yasmine stood up. "Yes, Ma'am, that is the name I am called."

"Please, Yasmine, sit down. I am Suzanne, and you're going to be staying with me for a while."

"I will be a very good slave. I can sew and cook and clean house . . . "

"Stop, Yasmine. You are no longer a slave. You're free. Free to do anything you want. Now, I heard Stu ask if there was anything in particular that you would like to eat, and you have not answered him. What do you want?"

"I would like . . . could I please have a hamburger? With cheese on it? We were only allowed something so frivolous as a hamburger once a year. Is that possible?"

"I think we can arrange it. You stay here, I'll go get you a hamburger. With cheese."

When Stu emerged from the bathroom, he looked like . . . Stu. The dark coloring, the wig and the beard gone, the djellaba replaced by a smart black suit, he was a handsome Western male. And Yasmine smiled at him.


	14. Chapter 14

The Death of Stuart Bailey

Chapter 14

Jeff heaved a big sigh of relief. The dinner was finally over, which meant two things – he and the Prince were headed back to the hotel, and this whole nightmare of guarding the most demanding man he'd ever met was almost over. They chatted amiably on the ride back to the hotel, and he did his best to be as agreeable as he possibly could. Meanwhile, his mind was racing 1,000 miles a minute, worrying about Stu and Yasmine. He could only assume they'd gotten out of the hotel safely; Bilal hadn't heard anything to the contrary.

It took twenty minutes to get from the Sports Arena to The Beverly Hilton, but they were the longest twenty minutes Jeff could remember. When they finally arrived the limo driver pulled up at the front entrance rather than the parking garage entrance, and Spencer had to redirect him to the lower level. Everything else went smoothly; Jeff and the Prince got into the elevator, and Jeff pushed the button to the Penthouse.

Just a few more minutes and Jeff's duties would be over. The elevator doors opened on their floor and, like he always did, Jeff got off first. He had asked Bilal on the first day of the job if the Prince would stay in the elevator until Jeff gave him the 'all clear.' His mind elsewhere, he didn't see the dirty gray djellaba' s until it was almost too late. "Death to those who would oppose the teachings of Allah!" one of the men yelled, and a hail of gunfire ensued. Jeff pushed Bilal backward and, for just a moment, thought he'd escaped unharmed. He fired three times; one of the gunmen went down and a second was wounded. A third man escaped down the back stairway.

"Are you alright?" he asked as he turned to face Bilal.

"Yes, praise Allah. But, Mr. Spencer . . . "

That's when Jeff felt the wet trickle down his arm and knew the truth of the matter . . . he'd been hit. "Oh . . ." was all he could say before his knees got weak and buckled under him.

XXXXXXXX

"Stuart, Lieutenant Gilmore's on one."

"Thanks, Suzanne." He picked up line one. "What's going on, Gil? Don't you ever go home? What? He what? When? What happened?" There was silence for a minute, followed by "How is he?" More silence. "Where is he? Uh-huh. Can you close off the corridor and clear the rooms so I can get in there without being seen? Good, I'm on my way."

Stu hurried out into the lobby. "Suzanne, honey."

There was a tone to his voice that she recognized. "What happened?"

"There was an incident at the hotel . . . "

"Is he alive?" Suzanne interrupted.

"So far. That's all Gil could tell me right now."

She stood and gathered her belongings. "You're going to the hospital? I'm going with you."

"Someone has to stay with Yasmine. We can't leave her alone. See if you can get Kookie to come in here."

Suzanne went swiftly out the front door and Stu could hear her shout, "Kookie!" In another minute Kookie came running in.

"What's up, dad?"

"Can you get off for an hour or two?"

"Sure, what do you need?"

Stu gestured for Kookie to follow him. "See that angel we saved from a life of slavery tonight?"

"You mean the one asleep on your couch?"

"Somebody has to stay with her." Kookie looked confused, with good reason. "We're going to St. Vincent's Hospital. Jeff's been shot."

"How? Where? How is he?"

"There was an attack aimed at the Prince. That's all Gil knows right now. I'll call you when I know more."

Stu grabbed the baseball cap from his desk and put it on, pulling it down low over his eyes. With the clothes that Kookie had purchased for him earlier, blue jeans, a polo shirt and a windbreaker, the last person he looked like was Stuart Bailey. He hurried back out to the front desk and he and Suzanne went to the parking lot. They took Suzanne's car in case anyone was looking for Stuart's. "Which hospital?" she asked.

"St. Vincent's," Stu told her, and then shared with her everything Gil had told him. When they arrived at the hospital and parked, Stu took Suzanne's arm as if they were just an old married couple visiting a friend. "Jeff Spencer?" he asked the hospital receptionist, who gave them an odd look before answering.

"Intensive Care, Fourth Floor," the receptionist finally informed them, and they proceeded to the elevators.

"Intensive Care. That's not good, Stuart."

"You know how hospitals are, Suzanne. Especially with a gunshot wound. Over cautious," he replied, trying his best to reassure himself as well as Suzanne.

They were met by a uniformed officer when the doors opened on the fourth floor. "I'm sorry, folks, access to this floor is temporarily restricted."

Stu pulled out his wallet and showed the officer his identification. "Yes sir, Lieutenant Gilmore is expecting you. Room 416 down at the end of this hall."

They hurried down the hall, to room 416. It was an office of sorts. Gil was waiting for them; Stu had seen him happier. "What's the news, Gil? Where is he?"

"Sit down, you two. I'm not gonna sugar-coat it, Stu, Jeff's in bad shape. There were three assassins, waiting for them when they got off the elevator. The only reason Prince Bilal is alive is because of Jeff. He got two of the three; we caught the third one. All three Moroccans. Jeff came out of the elevator first, they saw the Prince and started shooting. He picked up two bullets; the one in the arm is just a flesh wound. The one in the shoulder is the problem. That's why the doctor's got him in the ICU."

"Are they going to let us in to see him?" Suzanne asked.

"Yes, but just for a few minutes. They may have to take him back into surgery. He's in room 412."

Stu took Suzanne's hand and they walked back up to 412. A doctor was in with him; when he realized they were waiting for him he came out into the corridor. "Are you Bailey?"

"I am. This is Suzanne. You're doctor . . . ?"

"Baker. He was asking for you earlier. I'll let you both go in if you promise not to upset him. 5 minutes is all you get, though."

Suzanne went in first; when Stu followed up behind her he saw that Jeff's eyes were closed. "You could have solved the problem nicely if you'd let him walk out of the elevator first."

There was a chuckle from the man in the bed. The voice was weak but steady. "Now how would that look the next time someone needs a bodyguard?"

"I am here, too, Jeff," Suzanne chimed in.

His eyes opened slowly. "Yes, you are. I had to see for myself. Stu – how are we going to limp along with me in the hospital and you dead?"

"That's not for you to worry about. I'll take care of it. Kookie wants to be a detective . . . he'll have to help out more."

"Where is he, by the way?"

"Back at the office, watching over Yasmine. I wonder how long it will take Bilal to miss her?"

"How is she?"

"She's fine," Stu told him, just as Jeff yawned. "Look, we're going to go. If I don't come back up you'll know why. If you do see me, you'll know I'm not dead anymore."

"Okay."

Suzanne leaned down and kissed Jeff on the cheek. "Hurry and get well. I'll be back to see you tomorrow."

"Sounds good." Jeff's eyes were closed as Stu and Suzanne left the room.

Dr. Baker was waiting for them. "Odds are we're going to have to perform another surgery to clean up that shoulder. We wanted to give it twenty-four hours to settle down before we did anything further. I'll let you know when we've made a decision."

As they left the hospital, Stu tried to cheer Suzanne up. "He's going to be alright. You know he is. He's a very lucky man, to have you worrying about him like this."

"I . . . I care about him, Stuart."

"I know you do, Suzanne, and he cares about you. Though why he won't admit it is beyond me." Stu shook his head, then pulled his cap back down low when he saw someone watching them from the parking garage. "Suzanne, can you get the car and pick me up at the front entrance?" They were on the far side of the parking lot, next to the garage.

"The man watching us?" Asking the question was a formality; Suzanne had spotted the figure not long after Stu did.

"I don't want him to get a closer look at me. Let's leave Stu Bailey dead for now. I'll go back inside, as if I've forgotten something, then you can meet me out front."

Suzanne went to get the car, and Stu went back into the hospital. He grabbed a newspaper and walked back out when he saw her pull up. The man in the parking garage was gone. "Do you think he recognized you?"

"I don't know. I guess we'll wait and find out."

They were both quiet on the way back to the office, until Suzanne broke the silence. "Jeff asked a good question, Stuart. What are you going to do with Jeff in the hospital and you presumed dead?"

"Play it by ear, Suzanne. I'll try to stay dead as long as possible to see what I can find out. But if I have to come out of hiding I will. Can you still take Yasmine home with you tonight? I'll have Kookie take her to the U.S. Consulate tomorrow."

"Yes, I can do that. At least she's not a slave anymore."

"We all did something good tonight, even though it cost us. We'll deal with tomorrow when it's here."


	15. Chapter 15

The Death of Stuart Bailey

Chapter 15

"You're sure there is nothing else I need to do, Stuart?"

"Nothing else, Suzanne. Take her to the U.S. Consulate at 537 Figueroa Street. Jim Dancing is expecting you. Go in with her and get her settled. When you come back Kookie will drive you to the hospital. I can't go to Dino's yet, so Dino's is catering dinner here for the three of us. They don't know it's for me; they think my sister will be here.

"Dr. Baker called this morning and they've decided not to operate. Jeff's out of the ICU and in the regular hospital. And probably bored out of his mind. I know he'll be happy to see both of you."

"You can't go, Stuart?" Suzanne asked plaintively.

"No, honey, you saw what it was like the night before last. Much as I'd like to see him I don't think I can chance it. Tell him I'll see him when they send him home."

"Do you have any leads on who wanted you dead?"

"Three or four possibilities. We're going to have to make a decision in the next day or two . . . either that or we're going to have to stage a funeral."

Kookie came in and caught the end of the exchange. "No, man, we hold a private memorial, closed casket, and we're done."

"And what about burial, Kookie?" Suzanne asked.

"Cremation. We can post the notice in the paper. My cousin's got a funeral home with a chapel. We borrow the chapel and he'll set it up just like a memorial service with no viewing and no burial. If you want to go that route."

"That would solve the problem of a funeral. It might be worth it. How soon would you have to know?" Stu wanted to talk to Gilmore before he made a commitment.

"Tomorrow. He'd need twenty-four hours to set it up. And we'd want to put the notice in the paper tomorrow."

"Alright. Let me talk to Gil and see what he thinks. I'll let you know tonight."

XXXXXXXX

Suzanne left Yasmine at the U.S. Consulate, with reassurances that she would be given everything she needed to get her started in a life of freedom. Suzanne gave Yasmine Stu and Jeff's business cards, with instructions that if she wanted for anything, to contact one of them immediately.

Kookie drove Suzanne to St. Vincent's, and they were informed that Jeff had been moved to the third floor, room 309. They found him propped up in bed, looking much more chipper than he had two nights ago. He didn't give either of them a chance to say anything; he started right away with his questions. "How's everything going down there? Is Stu still dead? Any leads so far? What does Gil have to say? Is the office busy?"

"Slow down, dad. We'll answer all your questions."

"How are you feeling, Jeff?" Suzanne asked after she took hold of his hand.

"Better and worse. The shoulder hurts but the rest of me feels better." He gave Suzanne's hand a squeeze. "Now, answers, please."

"Everything is fine at the office. We are a little busy, not too much to handle, I think," Suzanne told him.

"What about Stu?"

Kookie sat on the far side of Jeff's bed. "Stu is still playing dead. He says he's got three or four leads, and he wants to talk to Gil before he makes a decision about staying dead."

"If he stays that way you're going to need a funeral."

"Under control. I've got a cousin with a funeral parlor," Kookie informed him

"And what about the cemetery?" Jeff wondered.

"Cremation, dad," came the answer.

Jeff was quiet for a moment. "Well, you seemed to have thought of everything. Good job, Kookie."

"One thing he didn't think of, Jeff."

"What's that, Suzanne?"

"You won't be able to attend."

"That is a problem. I don't think they're going to let me out of here that soon."

"Do you know that for sure?" Kookie asked.

Jeff shook his head, "No, it's just a guess."

"Let's see if we can find out." Kookie pushed the buzzer for the nurse, who came in as soon as she was able.

"You rang for help, Mr. Spencer?" The nurse asked.

"Has the doctor left orders for when I can go home? I have a pretty important funeral to attend."

"Yes sir, Doctor said you can leave the day after tomorrow if everything keeps going the way it has been."

"Thank you, Miss Weston."

After the nurse left, Jeff turned to Kookie. "Can you set it up for the day after that?"

"Sure, dad. We'll put the notice in the paper tomorrow. We can say it's restricted access and just have a few people attend. I'll check with Stu and see if he wants to stay dead for a while longer, and we'll let you know. Come on Suzanne, we need to get back to the office."

Suzanne bent down and kissed Jeff on the cheek. "Take care of yourself and do what the nurses tell you. I will see you the day after tomorrow."

"Yes, ma'am. Take care of Stu, please. And call me when he decides what he's going to do."

XXXXXXXX

"Kookie, do you think this is a good idea? For Stu to continue the charade?" Suzanne asked on the way back to the office.

"If he wants to find out who tried to have him killed, it may be the only way, Suzanne."

"But to put so many people through more pain . . ."

"That's why we're going to make it private. The only one we'll have there besides us will be Lieutenant Gilmore. Just enough for it to be a believable event."

"But, all his friends . . . "

"We'll tell them that's the way Stu wanted it. Surely they'll respect his wishes."

"I hope you are right."

XXXXXXXX

"Gil, it's the dead man calling."

"That's funny, I didn't know dead men could talk."

"Have you heard anything?" Stu was hoping Gil had a lead.

"Nothing positive so far. Robby McKnight is in prison; Louie the Weasel's dead. I haven't gotten anything on the other two yet. You think of any more?"

"What about Sol Gambino? He threatened to kill me more than once."

"Now there's a name I haven't heard for a while."

"See if you can find anything out about him. And check into Stanley Schulman."

"Who in the world is Stanley Schulman?"

Stu almost laughed. "A very rich man in New York who swore he'd see me in my grave."

"You make all kinds of friends, don't you?" Gil asked him, with a laugh of his own.

"Yes. Yes I do. It looks like we're going to do a private funeral. To complete the illusion of my death. You up for a funeral?"

"If that's what it takes to keep you undercover, sure. I don't think you want to be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life. Those girls you date wouldn't appreciate it."

"I think it's necessary. That's what would follow if I was really gone."

"Alright, you have Kookie give me the details. I'll be there. Meantime I'll see what I can dig up on your fan club."

"Thanks, Gil. I appreciate everything you've done."

"Just stay dead, would you? I'd hate to do this for real."

There was a long pause on Stu's end. "So would I." 

_To be Continued_


End file.
